


Chain Of Custody

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: The Ghost Network [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: A bad time to grow a conscience, Domestic, Multi, Parenthood, This is how you DON'T raise children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames had never been completely sold on the idea of helping the Dream Killer, even with what had happened to him. It became something to do since he no longer felt a purpose to his skills. Now he <i>really</i> needed to figure out what he wanted to do.</p><p> </p><p>For the prompt <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/17044.html?thread=34694804#t34694804">Established relationship. One of the boys has a child that he doesn't know about. The child's mother dies, leaving him as the child's guardian.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking News

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elliesmeow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliesmeow/gifts).



Her nails were broken, split into sharp edges that cut her own skin but did nothing to help her dig at the smooth white walls of her prison. The nail bed of her left pinky finger was crusted over with blood, and she was close to losing her pointer and middle finger nails. Her throat was raw from screaming, but no one was coming. No one was listening.

And deep down, she knew she had no one else to blame for this.

There was a faint hiss behind her, and she whirled around. She knelt in front of the streaks of blood on the walls to face the door opening, though her captor smirked at her as if he knew what she had been trying to do. "Amelia," he said in those accented tones. It was a smooth, cultured voice, the kind of voice that spoke of old money and the British aristocracy. "Did you really think you could keep hurting those children and nothing would happen to you?"

"I didn't hurt anyone," she said, knowing the words for the useless cause that they were. This was the man that came to her with the woman, asking about her clinic in Mississippi. There had been a third, a tall and slim man with dark hair and hollow eyes that had snatched her from her home when she was heading in to work. Then she had been placed here, and the British man had led the questioning. The woman had watched with large eyes, and the hollow eyed man had tightened the straps that bound her wrists to the chair. After the first day, they took the chair away, leaving her with smooth white walls and bright lights that never dimmed.

There were rumors about the Dream Killer all over the Ghost Network. It was hard to avoid them, hard to tune it out when she _knew_ that there was nothing but truth behind the rumors. Knowing that there were three of them made sense now. How else could the Dream Killer never get caught? How else could he be all over the world and never be found, yet always know the truth about what happened?

Amelia knew she was going to die. No one ever got away once they were targeted.

"Because it was a dream?" he asked in neutral tones. She knew the words were a trap, but she nodded anyway. She never hurt anyone. She wasn't that kind. They were troubled kids, full of twisted and warped dreams. No one loved them, no one wanted them. If she changed them a little, if she took apart their souls, what did it matter? They were broken children, unwanted children, wards of the state. Afterward, the children wanted to do whatever they could to make her happy. The kids needed someone to love them, and Amelia loved them. It just wasn't the kind of love that the law thought should exist.

"Oh, Amelia. You know how powerful dreams can be. You know how real they are to children. You know how malleable they are."

The other two entered at that point. The slim man carried a gun in his hand and the woman had a knife. Amelia looked up at the British man, his large frame casting no shadow across the floor. "They need me," she wailed, feeling her resolve to deny everything crumble.

She was going to die. These were the Dream Killers, and she was going to die.

"No, Amelia," the woman said in firm tones. "They need to be free of you."

They ignored her screams after that.

***

Eames disposed of the body in a manner that wouldn't be tied back to the Dream Killer case immediately. Arthur had his rituals, but they weren't so satisfying for him. He needed to do something different, and he knew it would throw the FBI and Interpol for a loop. He couldn't feel sorry about that. Arthur had allowed him that much, and had stayed behind in their hotel room with Ariadne. He knew he would want to interfere in whatever Eames had planned and do things his own way.

It wasn't so surprising to see his lovers naked. Arthur was curled up around Ariadne, head pillowed on her breasts, looking exhausted. She stroked his hair, a slight smile on her face. Ariadne looked up as Eames entered the room, but didn't make any move to cover them up. "It went well, then?" she asked as he approached.

Nodding, Eames sat down on the bed beside them and ran his hand along Arthur's spine. The slimmer man looked up with a half smile. "I nearly went after you," he admitted.

"Control freak," Eames told him fondly. He let his hand slide down to cup his ass as he leaned in to kiss him on the lips. "I'm surprised you're not tied down."

"He can get out of the knots if he really tries," Ariadne said with a laugh. "I did that last time, remember?"

Eames chuckled. "I'm telling you, you're not tying them right, then."

"No, I'm just that good," Arthur told him, a thread of pride in his voice.

Eames kissed his temple and squeezed his ass again. "Braggart," he murmured.

It still felt almost strange sometimes, if Eames looked at their relationship too closely. Arthur needed Ariadne completely, yet apparently there was a strong bond between the two men as well. He knew without having to ask that Arthur would protect and defend him to death, just as he would for Ariadne. She would do the same for both men, and Eames would never think twice about reciprocating for either of them. This wasn't ordinary, but it worked. After the events the year before that left him cast adrift and legally dead, it was good to belong somewhere. They had managed to navigate birthdays and holidays and anniversaries together, and Eames had been surprised by how comfortable it was to be together this way. They had visited Ariadne's mother for Christmas and New Year's, and afterward had gone to Mississippi to deal with the latest case that had come to their attention over the Ghost Network. Arthur's research was meticulous, and the victims had numbered in the hundreds.

"I'm too fucked out for more," Arthur said softly, breathing in Ariadne's scent.

"Wasn't planning on fucking either of you," Eames replied, getting into bed beside them. "Feels like such a long day, you know? It's enough just to touch you."

Arthur smiled and nodded on Ariadne's chest. Eames' arm was heavy and warm as it settled over his shoulders, and Arthur could feel him leaning in to kiss Ariadne. This used to make him nervous, wondering if Eames would try to ruin what he had with Ariadne or push past his defenses. Eames was always respectful of his relationship, and had never intentionally tried to be anywhere he wasn't welcome. Arthur was the one that had come to care for him, which had been uncomfortable to realize at first. He had wanted to see Eames as an intrusion into their lives, then as just another victim that had to be accounted for. But he was more than that, and it was almost as if he made Arthur's life complete. The three of them were a family, the solid unit he never had growing up.

Ariadne shifted her arms from around Arthur to accommodate Eames. "And we've got long days ahead of us, too," she said softly, rubbing at Eames' shoulders. "It'll be good to be home again, air out the apartment, get back into routines." She let out a sigh. "It'll be nice to be in _our_ bed, not have to run around..." She smiled down at Eames and let her other hand rest comfortably on Arthur's shoulder. "I'm glad things are slowing down. I don't want to have to do this forever."

"We won't have to if legislation finally moves," Arthur grumbled. It was an old argument, not one that any of them really needed to start again.

Eames swatted his head affectionately. "Go to sleep. You have a security meeting in the morning, idiot. You're crankier than usual when you don't sleep."

"That's rich, coming from you," Arthur replied tartly.

"That's why I can recognize it," he laughed. "Good night, Arthur."

Tangled up together, the three of them slept.

***

Eames checked the Ghost Network daily and used the various shell accounts that Arthur created for him to follow up on his old friends and contacts. As far as they were concerned, he had to stay dead; the only ones aware he was actually alive was Yusuf and Ariadne's mother. It was lonely and isolating, though it wasn't any different from the isolation he used to experience while working for Scotland Yard. He had no family, very few friends and had made quite a few enemies in the dream share underground when he had to shut them down.

It was with extreme surprise that he received a message via the Ghost Network from Eden. It had been over a year since he had last seen her, and that had been at a distance. She had last seen him in the disaster of a job in Mombasa two Christmases ago, and he had hoped that she had survived the encounter. Arthur had given him her contact information, and Eames had actually visited the small city in southern Scotland that she called home. He had seen her with her boyfriend Geordie in the park that day, a smile on her face. She was fine, he told himself. He didn't need to know any more than that.

 

To: Eames  
From: BlackSwan  
Subject: Shelley  
I know you're still alive. Your account is active and I'm having a bitch of a time tracing your home IP. i don't blame you for hiding after what happened, but I really do need to get in touch with you ASAP. It's important, has to do with Shelley. I promise this isn't a trap.  
-Eden  
(Attachment: contact.pdf)

 

Eames' gut twisted in response to seeing Shelley's name. He hadn't seen hide nor hair or her since the debacle in Mombasa. Neither had anyone else in the business. While she could hide herself effectively, she would never remain off the grid this way to her closest contacts. He could only assume that meant she was dead.

So why would Eden be contacting him now?

He trusted Eden, even if promises that something wasn't a trap usually meant that it was. The attachment was a simple document with her real world home address and phone numbers. It was the same information he had gotten from Arthur over a year ago.

Interest piqued, he wandered off in search of the resident security consultant. Eames had been something of an expert in dream share and enforcement, but that was almost two years ago now. Things moved quickly in the field, and he wouldn't consider himself an expert anymore. He had honed his dream share skills instead, just as Ariadne had. The three of them had skill sets that were more applicable to the illegal markets than the legitimate sleep labs now, and they seem to have fallen into the traditional roles of point, architect and extractor/forger.

Arthur was in his home office, frowning at his computer screen. He had his earpiece in and was in the middle of a conversation with his secretary Sharlene. "...No, that's not going to work out at all. I outlined that in the original contract, Shar. He understood up front there had to be monthly downtimes to maintain the security servers and that it was his responsibility to have a backup copy for the maintenance." He looked up when he realized Eames was in the door and waved him in. After a moment, Arthur made a few clicks with his mouse and then shook his head. "I'm upholding my end of the contract. He can threaten me with lawsuits all he wants. I'm not about to promise more because of this bullshit and I'm not babying him because of his own damn poor decision making."

Eames dropped into a chair across from Arthur's desk and grinned at his disgruntled expression. For a moment, it felt like being back in the Yard and waiting out one of Mayhew's rants at another agent. It surprised him how much he missed it, but the moment passed.

Hanging up when the conversation was done, Arthur finished whatever he was doing on the computer and then saved his work. "Hey," he said, expression softening. "Everything okay with you and Ariadne?"

"Oh, sure. Ariadne's still at that consulting job you introduced her to. I wanted to ask you about Eden, that hacker in Scotland."

It took a moment for Arthur to place the name. The dream share community was truly a small one, and as the head of the Ghost Network, Arthur knew them all.

"What about her?" Arthur asked with a frown. "You didn't bother actually talking with her."

"I figured there was no need at the time," Eames explained. "But she contacted me over the network now. She assured me it wasn't a trap."

Arthur's eyes sharpened, just as Eames thought they would. "I see."

"I rather thought the security expert could tell me a thing or two about the message sent."

It didn't take long for Arthur to call up an instance of the Ghost Network and check on Eames' account as well as Eden's. Eames remained silent, letting him work. He didn't need to constantly chatter at Arthur, after all. "Well, she sent it, all right. And whatever it is, I don't think it's related to anything on the Network. The message wasn't sent in response to message board posts, PM's to her or any of her listed associates." Arthur opened up a different window and began running one of his custom programs. "I can trace back her connections, but that will take a little more time. This is also assuming it's even in response to an online communiqué."

"True." Eames folded his hands over his stomach in a move that was more reminiscent of Yusuf. It reminded him that he ought to visit his friend soon, if he could arrange to stealthily arrive in DC again. "So it should be safe enough to contact her."

"Should be," Arthur agreed. "I'll keep looking, though, so can you put it off until later tonight?"

"I'll ring her after dinner, then."

When Eames didn't move right away, Arthur lofted an eyebrow at him. "Yes, Mr. Eames?"

He openly grinned at Arthur. "I need a reason to sit here?"

"Let me guess... You've had thoughts about fucking on my desk."

The smile stretching Eames' lips grew wider. "Now there's a thought. Quite the imagination there, Arthur."

He looked at Eames evenly. It was hard to truly shock him or ruffle his feathers, no matter how often he tried. That was part of the charm, in a way. Once Eames managed to get under his skin, it was delicious to behold. "Eames..."

"I'd gladly tip you back on the desk and tongue fuck your arse," Eames said boldly, idly scratching behind an ear as if reciting a grocery list. "Or sucking you off until you can't see straight. I think I'd rather like seeing you incoherent as you come."

"Eames," Arthur said firmly, though his voice was strangled. "I'm trying to work."

"Yes, I see that." Eames grinned at him unrepentantly. "But the beauty of working for yourself is that you make your own hours."

"You are an incorrigible ass."

"Of course I am," Eames said in a playfully affronted tone. "I never pretended otherwise."

Arthur reached across his desk and pulled Eames toward him. Their mouths crashed together in a tangle of lips and teeth. "I'm working," he growled against Eames' mouth when he broke the kiss. "You'll have to wait until I'm done and Ariadne's home and can join us."

Eames shot him a playful pout. "Well, if I have to wait..."

"Yes, you do." Arthur gave him a thin smile as he pushed him back into his seat. "Why don't you plot what we'll do tonight when Ariadne's home? You know how excited she gets when she's working on a project."

Laughing, Eames got to his feet. "That I do. Fine, then, _work_ like the overachiever you are. I'll get you worked up soon enough."

That night over dinner, Ariadne was animatedly discussing the park project she was working on, hands sketching out the dimensions as she spoke. She turned her bright eyes toward the two men and grinned. "So how was your day?"

Arthur was noncommittal, though Eames gave her a filthy grin in response. "I've been thinking of the three of us in bed together, both of our cocks buried inside of your luscious little body. Quite distracting."

Ariadne practically twinkled in response. "Mmmm. Sounds fascinating. Something we should definitely get started with, right?"

Leaving the dishes behind, the three of them headed to the bedroom. Clothes were stripped in no particular order, and Eames kissed Ariadne deeply. She trusted him implicitly, and she was eager for him. Her hands roamed over his back and buttocks as he backed her slowly toward the bed, his tongue still in her mouth. This part never got old, and every kiss felt as spine tingling as the first time he had dared to do this.

Eames tilted Ariadne so that she was on all fours as Arthur watched them both. He slicked his fingers with lube and slid one into her backside, slowly working her open. His other hand was at her hip, steadying her as her hands clutched at the sheets. "Good, darling?" he asked, voice rough with desire. He leaned in close, his cock brushing against the back of her thigh.

"Yeah," she whimpered, leaning back a little into his touch. "That feels good."

When he felt she was ready enough, he removed his fingers and pushed his cock inside of her. Ariadne made soft groaning noises of pleasure at the intrusion, then squeaked in surprise when he leaned forward to grasp her body and pull it back against his chest. She reached behind her to grab him for balance, and Eames slid his hands down to her thighs, pulling them up and apart. It kept her suspended in front of him, his cock still inside her, splaying her wide for Arthur's gaze. Eames nipped at the side of her neck and gave Arthur a filthy grin. "Now you."

Ariadne was slick and wet, making soft gasping noises as Eames lifted her up and down over him a few times. Arthur's hooded gaze was dark with desire, and he got up to put a condom on. Once done, he pushed his sheathed cock into her, one hand moving to cup a breast and roll her nipple between his fingers. The other reached around her to Eames' side, pinning Ariadne between them. "Oh God," she moaned. "This feels..."

Arthur moved his hips slowly at first, until he could set up a rhythm that didn't upset Eames' own balance as he tried to thrust up into Ariadne. She had one arm behind her to grab hold of Eames, and moved one around Arthur's shoulders and leaned her head forward to kiss him.

"You're so tight," Eames growled against the curve of her shoulder. "I'm not going to last long like this," he said, feeling his balls tighten. Arthur dug his nails into Eames' ribs and did fast, shallow thrusts into Ariadne. Eames could feel the pressure inside of her building and tightened his hands on her thighs. He was sure she would bruise but couldn't care at the moment. She felt too good around him, and he groaned as he let go.

He still held her over him, though his hips slowed and he stopped pushing and pulling at her body. Arthur picked up speed and Eames slid one hand up from her thigh to have her hook it around Arthur's waist. He moved that hand along her stomach, until he could slip down and touch her clit. She was slick against his fingers, and he could feel Arthur sliding into her. Eames moved to rub her clit, making her wail deep inside her throat. She trembled between them, overwhelmed by the sensation and clenching down hard. Eames hissed and moved his fingers faster against her. "Come, darling," he said, nipping at her shoulder and neck. "Come for us."

Ariadne threw her head back as she cried out, leaning against Eames. Arthur growled and picked up even more speed, hips snapping against hers. He was close, and thrusting through her orgasm tipped him over. He leaned heavily against her, breathing hard. When Eames pushed forward, they all toppled over onto the bed in a sprawling tangle of sweaty limbs and sticky fluids. Arthur pushed at Eames, making a discontented noise. "Dumb move, there."

"Didn't mean to," he replied, stroking Arthur's arm. "Lost my balance and didn't want to drop Ariadne."

"Yeah, that would be bad," Ariadne agreed. She lay there for a moment, stretched out and almost sore in spots yet sated. She really didn't want to move, even to clean up. After a minute, she sighed and pushed herself up to head to the bathroom.

"All right," Arthur murmured as she walked across the room. "Definitely worth the distraction during the work day."

Eames laughed and stretched out beside him. "Glad to be of service."

Once she was cleaned up, Ariadne wriggled onto the bed between them. "Mmm. Perfect end to an awesome day." She gave each man a kiss and stretched languidly. Both Arthur and Eames had to agree with her.

***

"Well, everything checks out," Arthur told Eames the following morning over breakfast. "I didn't get a chance to tell you last night. We were all so very pleasantly occupied," he added with a smirk when Eames looked up from his coffee cup.

Eames smiled around the brim of his cup as Ariadne laughed. "I'll give her a call after breakfast, then. That will give me something to do while you're both occupied with work."

Later, he dialed the number for Eden. She picked up immediately, but didn't say much other than a rushed "Hello." Eames wondered if she was still working in the field or if she took on legitimate jobs. He probably should have looked into her Ghost Network profile more or asked Arthur for more details. It hadn't seemed important at the time. "It's Eames," he said quietly, settling into his chair. "I got your message."

Eden let out a relieved breath. "Oh, good. Do you think you could come to visit me? There are some things I really need to discuss with you, and the phone isn't good for that."

Eames could hear vague yelling in the background, making him wonder where she was. "Are you in trouble?"

Her laughter was tired and almost bitter. "A little more than I expected, yeah. That's why I had to contact you. I figure you have good reasons for wanting to stay dead, but this is important. I wouldn't have contacted you otherwise."

"I appreciate that."

"I'm glad," she told him honestly. "Not just because I need your help right now, but because the entire situation in Mombasa two years ago was just fucked up. I think we're the only ones that made it out alive."

"And in my case, just barely," Eames murmured.

"I thought that might be why you went silent. I gave you my address. When do you think you might be able to swing by and visit me?"

"In a few days, probably." That would be long enough for Ariadne to wrap up her project and the three of them could travel to Scotland together. Eames rather liked the idea of hotel sex, if only because he could be lazy about cleaning up the room after himself.

Eden blew out a long breath. "Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Thanks. I really appreciate this, Eames. I promise you I'll explain more when you're here."

"Sounds like an invitation," he teased, using the same old flirty tone he used to use around her.

She snorted, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "You wish. I'll see you in a few days."

***

Eden was visibly tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Her stomach was rounded with child, though her center of gravity hadn't shifted greatly yet. She was all belly, her cheeks a little more full than the last time Eames had seen her. He saw the tasteful rings on her finger and couldn't help but smile at her. "Congratulations. I would've gotten you a gift if I'd known."

"You would have if you weren't so busy playing dead," she replied.

"I did have help with that." He refused to apologize for keeping his head down; she of all people knew how dangerous it would have been to resurface.

"Of course." Eden stepped aside, a hand unconsciously moving to her belly as if to guard it. He didn't think she was concerned that he would harm her, so the move sent alarm bells ringing even louder in his head. "Come on in."

"I didn't bring anyone else at the moment. I wasn't sure what this was all about," he told her, frowning slightly when she quickly shut the door. "What _is_ this all about?"

Eden led him into the living room and then sank down into an easy chair heavily. The apartment was quiet; they were the only ones there, and Eames wondered where Geordie had gone.

"Shelley didn't tell you a lot," she said finally. "I promised never to tell you anything, but she's probably dead and I can't keep her secrets for her anymore." Eden rubbed her jaw, discomfited as well as tired now. "I've been taking care of her son Christopher." Eames froze at her flat tone of voice; he had never known that Shelley had a son, and something about Eden's demeanor told him that there was much more to this story.

 _"Your_ son Christopher," Eden said after a moment, looking directly at him.

"What?"

Eden gave him a tired smile, as if the words hadn't just knocked the breath out of him. "When you had to decimate the community, she had to hide it from you. Would they have really given you leniency?" she asked when he shot her an incredulous look. "Do you think you could have given her child protection?"

"I would have _tried,"_ Eames growled.

"That's not good enough," Eden told him bluntly. "You know Shelley. She made her own arrangements and left you out of it."

"Just like she faked her death," Eames muttered bitterly.

"Your bosses never would have let her go, not even for a child. You know that," Eden chided gently. He wanted to contradict her, but they both knew she was telling the truth.

"Where is he?" Eames asked, pushing aside the well of hurt and disappointment that was threatening to choke him. He couldn't process the fact that he had a child, that he had never known about a son he had fathered.

"With Geordie." She looked even more tired as she tried to choose applicable words for what she had to say. "He won't listen to me anymore. It was different when we could pretend that Shelley was coming back. But she's not, and now Geordie and I are going to have a baby. As soon as he found out..." Her voice trailed off sadly. "I sent you the message when he pulled a knife on me."

"He pulled a _knife?"_

"Chris is almost eight," Eden told him. She shrugged at his incredulous look. "He's tall for his age, whip smart and strong. I can't hold onto him if he struggles normally, but he's gotten even worse." She looked distressed, blinking rapidly as if about to cry. "He's threatened to cut me open and take out the baby. He said he'd kill me in my sleep. We've tried to take him to a counselor, but he won't talk and he just hits me and screams. He barely even listens to Geordie, and we're running out of ideas."

"Eden..."

"We're trying, but it's gotten so hard. We don't want him going into care. Shelley doesn't have anyone else and we're not family. You're his blood."

"He won't know me from Adam," Eames retorted. He hadn't even known he was a father until ten minutes ago. How could he parent a wild child?

"Yes, but he won't go into care. You're not a bad sort, and you'll do right by him. Shelley never wanted you to know about Chris, but we have to do what's best for him now. Geordie and I tried, but we're not good enough. We can't do this."

Eames wanted to say something biting, but knew she had tried her best. She had cared for Christopher for the past two years and whenever Shelley couldn't. Eden always repaid her debts, that much he knew. She had honor, and she was trying to do the right thing. "I should meet him," he said finally. "I haven't seen him before." He felt numb. This entire situation was surreal. He was dreaming under PASIV, then, though he didn't know why Arthur and Ariadne would do this to him.

There was sympathy on Eden's face. It burned, and Eames wanted to break something.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

But much like last time he got a nasty shock about Shelley, reality had changed around him and he had no choice but to deal with it.

***  
***


	2. A Bad Dream

Christopher Baker was nearly eight years old. He had Shelley Baker's brown hair and skin tone as well as Eames' blue eyes, which were currently narrowed as he took in the tableau in front of him. The tilt of his jaw was Eames' same stubborn set, though his other features were clearly Shelley's. He even had her slight build.

Eames wanted to hate Shelley for not telling him that he had a child, for hiding Christopher's very existence. He couldn't, though. His superior officer had wanted him to take down the illegal dream share business, and there was no way Jack would have cared what would happen to Eames' child if Shelley was killed or had to go to prison. Shelley protected herself and her own as well as she could. It made more sense now why Geordie couldn't go with Eden on that fateful job in Mombasa. Someone had to stay behind to take care of the boy.

Arthur and Ariadne of course came to Eden's apartment with him. Having them as moral support helped, but it was still awkward to tell Christopher that Eames was his father and he would have to live with him from now on.

"Fuck you," the child said, seizing hold of a book from the coffee table. He might have been aiming for Eames, but he struck Ariadne in the stomach. "Go away!"

"Christopher!" Eden cried, scandalized. "Apologize _now!"_

"Shut up!" the boy snarled. "You can't make me! You're not my mother!"

"I'm the one taking care of you," Eden snapped. "You know better. Now apologize!"

Christopher instead kicked one of the chairs over and shouted "No!" at the top of his lungs. He picked up more things from the coffee table to throw, and Eden tried her best to grab them from his hands. At that point, he started kicking her legs and slapping her arms. He would have hit her stomach if she didn't turn away, and he was shouting the entire time that he hated her, she was a fucking bitch and he wished she was dead. Arthur grabbed Christopher before it could turn even more violent; Eames was stunned and simply gaped at the sight of the boy attacking Eden with such vitriol. Her quiet words hadn't really made sense to him at the time. What eight year old boy would attack someone with a knife?

"I'll fucking kill you all!" he cried, yanking his arms out of Arthur's grip. Eames knew for a fact that if Arthur wanted to contain the child, he wouldn't move. But Christopher turned away from them with a sneer on his lips and left the room in a huff. He didn't seem to care that Eames was his father or who the other two strangers were. Each step was a stomp, and he ignored Eden calling him back to listen.

"My son is a brat," Eames murmured.

"To be fair," Ariadne said in a conciliatory tone, "we just tossed a huge bombshell at him."

Arthur frowned in the direction that Christopher had gone off in. Eames could tell that he desperately wanted to do something else, though there wasn't much that he could do about this situation. "Dinner ought to be done soon," Geordie called out from the kitchen. Eden looked at Eames helplessly before starting to head off after Christopher.

"Somehow this is not how I thought fatherhood would be," Eames murmured.

"Did you ever think of it before?" Ariadne asked him gently.

"Honestly? Not much. It was more that I supposed I'd have children someday," he said as he rubbed the back of his head uncertainly. "I guess that's now."

"We definitely can't leave things as they are," Arthur said finally, taking his phone out of his pocket. He flipped it open and started texting someone.

"What are you doing?" Eames asked. He was heartened by the "we" that Arthur used, but the texting worried him. What if Arthur wanted to lock up the boy?

"He'll need some kind of evaluation for therapy. _Not_ dream therapy," he added in a curt tone, as if Eames could ever misunderstand what he meant. "The good old fashioned kind where they do behavioral interventions and family counseling. We're all going to need it."

"Thank you," Eames murmured. He squeezed Ariadne's hand when she took his, nodding gratefully at Arthur. These two were forever rescuing him, weren't they?

"You're important, and that makes him family," Arthur replied with a shrug.

"Let's get through dinner first," Ariadne began, ever practical. "Then we'll figure out what to do."

Dinner was a disaster. Christopher was sullen, glowering at everyone and shunning attempts at conversation. He ignored Eames and picked at his dinner. Geordie said it was his favorite, but Christopher barely tasted any of it. He kicked at his chair listlessly and appeared to be tuning out Arthur's description of his Parisian townhouse. Eden gave up trying to get him interested in anything about the move, and started telling the others about the home schooling that she had done. "Shelley didn't like the schools available and didn't want to answer to anyone regarding why she wouldn't be able to pick Chris up. So she started the home schooling and I continued it. He's really smart, and is enrolled in advanced classes online. He's two grades ahead..."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Christopher finally snarled. "Don't act like you give a shit." He threw the fork down and pushed back from the table.

"You sit down!" Eden snapped, pointing at his plate. "You haven't been excused from the table. You've barely eaten anything!"

Geordie merely looked at Christopher evenly. "Sit down and eat. There isn't anything after this, and you're going to be hungry."

"I don't want to eat it!" Christopher snatched up the knife and spoon from his place setting and threw it at Eden's head. She managed to get her hands up and duck out of the way, though she narrowly missed striking the table with her chin. For good measure, he threw the remnants of his milk glass at her and then overturned the plate before heading out of the room. Geordie had gotten up to check on Eden first, but she waved him off and reached for her napkin to sop up the milk. He went after Christopher, shouting for him to come back.

"Welcome to our house," Eden told the others sadly. "This is what it's like every night. God, we haven't even hit bedtime yet."

"Why? What happens at bedtime?" Eames asked, brows furrowed.

"More of the same, including kicking at the walls. We've covered over most of the holes in the walls with plaster. He's got a hard kick," Eden explained. She let out a sighing breath and rested a hand over her stomach. There wasn't any visible kick that the others could see, but they guessed that she felt movement. "I don't know what else to do. I really don't."

Eames looked at Ariadne and Arthur helplessly. "I don't either."

***

Christopher's room was a disaster. It had been a horrific tantrum the night before, one where Eames had felt the need to step in and stop him from beating on Eden. Christopher had turned on him, and he had simply held onto the boy until he stopped fighting. When he loosened his arms a little, Christopher started struggling again and then slammed the back of his skull into Eames' mouth. Eames tightened his grip again and didn't do much more than grunt in response to feeling his lip split over his teeth. His old instincts kicked in, and it was easy enough for him to subdue the child until the fight was truly out of him. Eames didn't say a word as Christopher screamed "Let go of me!" or "I hate you!" or "I'll kill you all!" and simply held on.

Once he was calm, Christopher seemed surprised to see the blood smeared on Eames' mouth and chin. He clearly expected some kind of reprimand for it. "You're heading to bed now," was all Eames said in response, and the boy just nodded and went to his room to sleep.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't want to deal with this," Eames told his lovers as they left Eden's apartment that evening. They were all planning to return in time for breakfast and help pack his things. "I know you say you want to, but..."

"He needs ground rules. And we need to do the same thing, all of us," Ariadne said, cutting him off. "I remember pitting my parents against each other. There's three of us, so it's that much easier for him to do that."

Arthur nodded in agreement and was already taking out his laptop to create a rules list and chores spreadsheet. "If we have everything outlined, it'll be that much harder for him to divide and conquer."

"You're treating this like a war."

Arthur looked up with a lofted eyebrow. "You think coddling him is the way to go? Yes, he's been through a lot. But that kind of behavior is absolutely unacceptable. Even if we do impact or sensation play between the three of us on occasion, that's consensual and we don't go past anyone's limits. Christopher just planned to beat up Eden and threaten her to get what he wants, and they're too frightened to call him on it. He needs rules, Eames. He needs limits. We won't do him any favors without them."

Part of him understood that. Another part of him, however, thought that he was exquisitely unequipped to deal with this.

The feeling was there again when Geordie opened the door just before breakfast. There was the sound of screaming in the general direction of Christopher's bedroom. "He didn't want to pack."

Eames strode forward at the sound of Eden's cry of pain and a crash. Christopher had apparently shoved her into a bookcase, sending it toppling over. "Look at what you did!" he shouted at her, moving to kick her in the shins. She caught his ankle to keep him from kicking her, but it was clearly a struggle to hang on as he continued to try to kick. "You tore my poster!"

It was a complete disaster area, with toys, books and clothes strewn everywhere. The open suitcase was untouched on the bed.

"You're not packing anything?" Eames asked Christopher.

"Fuck you," the boy responded, sneering at him.

Arthur looked at Eames evenly. "All we need are sizes and a general list of required items. I'll have Shar order a whole new wardrobe when we get home."

"Then do it. They shouldn't have to deal with this," Eames told him.

Christopher let out an incoherent scream and launched himself at Eames. He caught the boy's fists easily enough, then swept his feet out from under him. Eames held onto his fists and leaned his weight down enough to be sure that Christopher didn't wiggle away. "If you wanted to bring anything, you would have packed it. Nothing's in the suitcase, so you don't want anything." The boy spat in his face, but Eames didn't do much more than flinch. "We'll just strap you into the plane and be done with it."

"I'm not going on a goddamn plane!" he howled, kicking and squirming. He couldn't quite reach Eames, so he tried to dig his nails into Eames' hands. He was frustrated that Eames wasn't moving or responding to his attacks the same way Eden or Geordie did.

"Our flight is just before noon," Eames told him in a conversational tone.

"I'll tell the stewardess you kidnapped me!"

"There's no stewardess," Arthur supplied helpfully, starting to get a list of things together from Geordie as Ariadne helped Eden to her feet. "It's my plane."

After a moment's pause, Christopher began howling. No one moved until the screaming stopped, and Eames was left with gouge marks on his hands and wrists in addition to his swollen lip from the night before. The screaming devolved into tears. "I hate you," he sobbed, ineffectually trying to push at Eames. "I fucking hate you," he added when Eames didn't reply.

 _Your mother did, too, sometimes,_ Eames thought. He couldn't force the words out, and instead merely stood up when there didn't seem to be any further resistance.

Somehow they managed to eat breakfast. Ariadne looked over at Christopher as Eames and Arthur were going through whatever instructions Eden and Geordie were giving them. "Is there something you need to bring with you? Something of your mother's?" She was sure anything else could easily be bought or shipped over.

Christopher didn't look as though he heard her at first. After a minute it became clear that she wasn't moving. "Yeah. I've got some stuff."

"I'll help you pack," Ariadne offered. "I'm practically an expert at stuffing suitcases full."

"Why?"

"I had a lot of trips as a kid," she said, shrugging. Some of them had been to different dream therapy clinics before they found the one she clicked with, but he didn't need to know the details of it. Later, the skill had helped with slumber parties and when her family moved. "The suitcase can be heavy after, but we'll just have one of the guys lift it."

Christopher eyed her almost warily. "Are you trying to be the good cop?"

There was a slight burr about his r sounds, but otherwise he had almost the same accent that Eames did. "I don't have to try," Ariadne replied, expression impassive. She walked toward his bedroom and opened the door. "Let's get started."

He packed a few clothes, some stuffed animals and a few books. He tried to make it seem haphazard, but Ariadne could clearly see the photo album he put into the suitcase under his clothes. She pretended not to see it to save his pride, and gave the case a test lift. "Oh, I can do this. It's bulky, but I can manage."

Surprised, Christopher followed her out. She didn't miss the last look back into the bedroom or the lost expression on his face before he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. The others had mostly concluded whatever they needed to discuss. Eames' lip certainly looked worse in broad daylight, though he didn't remark on it to Christopher. "We'll keep in touch via text or the network," he was telling Eden. "I'll message you when we land."

"Thank you," she replied.

There wasn't any difficulty getting to the airport or on the plane. Christopher watched everything like a hawk but didn't ask any questions. Arthur did some background work while on the plane, not saying a word to the others. Ariadne had her sketch book, and Eames and Christopher wound up staring at each other for most of the flight.

If that was how their relationship would be, Eames was starting to doubt his ability to handle the situation. This was worse than the bad dream he had thought it was.

It was a complete nightmare.

***

They had already agreed that the third office space would become Christopher's bedroom. Eames didn't have much use for a particular office space, as he could access the Ghost Network on his laptop from any room. If he really wanted a place to store things, he could use a corner of Ariadne's office. Arthur's contained contracts and potentially sensitive things, and he would begin to lock the door to be sure that nothing was rifled through. If any of Ariadne's models or sketchbooks were destroyed, she would lock that door, too. Their bedroom wasn't right next to the third office, but it was close enough that sexual activity would have to be curtailed for a while. They decided not to explain anything in detail, and simply state that they were all in a relationship if Christopher asked.

Arthur's secretary had been granted access to the townhouse, so the office was already converted into a bedroom, with some basics already purchased. He looked into the room with a pleased expression when he brought in Christopher's suitcase. "Sharlene is overdue for a raise," he announced with a nod. He turned toward Christopher. "We'll let you get settled in, try some clothes. Whatever doesn't fit we can return or donate."

Christopher walked into the room and merely looked around, not saying a word. Arthur's phone rang, and he went off to answer it once he saw it was a business call. "Do you need help?" Eames asked, standing in the doorway. "He can go overboard sometimes, and it gets overwhelming."

"I don't need help from you," Christopher snapped, the somewhat lost expression hardening as soon as he focused on Eames.

He merely shrugged. "Okay, then. I'll come back in an hour or so, then, and we can eat something. I'm not hungry enough for a full meal yet. We can go over ground rules for everyone as we eat."

"You can't make me listen to them," he replied, lower jaw sticking out defiantly.

Eames merely lofted an eyebrow. He was tempted to say _I've battled better than you, little boy,_ but was aware enough that it would only make things worse. He was truly Shelley's and his son, and would need to salvage some of his pride. Eames could give him some kind of excuse to hide behind. "I'll still go through them. Might as well listen. You'd be bored otherwise."

"You can't make me like you," Christopher snarled.

"No, I can't," Eames told him, his gut clenching tightly. "But you will respect the adults in this house, even if you can't like any of us. I won't have you pulling any of the bullshit you gave to Eden and Geordie."

"Or else what?"

"We'll pin you down until you behave. You want to act like a toddler, you get treated like one. If you act your age, you get treated that way." Eames was aware that he had Christopher's attention now, and he hoped to God he was doing the right thing. "I'll let you unpack and we'll talk later."

"I won't call you Dad," the boy called out as Eames turned to leave.

Eames hadn't been aware of how much he had wanted to hear that until Christopher yanked the possibility away from him. He turned back, face impassive. "I'm Eames, then. You've already met Arthur and Ariadne. You will call them by their names, understood?"

"Or else?"

"Ever have your mouth washed out with soap?"

"You wouldn't!"

"My Mum did that to me when I was your age. Why not?" Eames replied with a careless shrug.

Christopher glared at him. "You just want to change me into what you want."

"You act the way you want, you deal with the consequences. Odds are damn good you won't like them," Eames replied irritably. "The choice is yours, Christopher. We didn't know about each other until two days ago. Just remember that."

He left before he could say anything about that he would regret.

***

The four of them had an early dinner, which was tense. Christopher answered questions in monosyllables if he answered at all, though there were no instances of screaming, profanity or thrown objects. He washed up and went to bed early, and Eames was grateful for that. His call to Eden was thankfully brief; it sounded as though the hacker was ready to cry throughout the entire conversation, and Eames wasn't ready to deal with tears. Ariadne threw her arms around him when he sat down heavily on their bed, his chest feeling hollow. "I don't know how I can do this," he murmured, closing a hand over her tiny one. "Tell me this is a bad dream. Tell me Shelley's just fucking with me for kicks."

Ariadne kissed his cheek. "Sorry, Eames. This is real." She kissed him again. "It'll take time to adjust. You can't ask him to welcome you into his life. Or the rest of us, either. We're strangers to him, you know."

"I do know that," Eames sighed. He fell backward onto the bed, pulling her with him. "I do. But what kind of role model am I going to be? I don't know what the hell I'm going to do. I don't know how to be a father."

"You know how to be a commanding officer," Ariadne pointed out.

"It's not the same."

"No, but you start there and soften it up a bit." She took his face in between her hands. "I know you'll do fine. I've seen you in action before."

"That was when I was still in the Yard," Eames said dismissively. "That doesn't apply anymore."

"Didn't it apply when he was out of control and attacking Eden?" Ariadne asked.

Eames frowned at her. "Stop making sense," he complained after a moment.

Ariadne laughed and rolled over to straddle his waist. She bent down to kiss his mouth, her hands on his chest. "That's what _I'm_ here for. Now, you wash up for bed, and I'll go see if Arthur's ready to come up for air or not. If I don't check, I'm sure he'll be up until three or four in the morning chasing paperwork in seven different countries."

"What did he do without you?"

She cupped his cheek sadly. "He was even more driven. There wasn't time to stop, and he never had reason to. I didn't think about it, really, not until after the first time we went under together."

Eames looked up at her, not sure what she was talking about. "Bruss, you mean?" he asked, referring to the first man she had helped to kill as the Dream Killer.

"No, before that. With the abduction, I mean. I wanted to see what he saw, what he did. It opened my eyes a little."

He watched as she slid off of the bed and started heading toward the door. "What did you see?" he asked finally. Eames had never asked about her abduction in the time since his own assault under PASIV. He hadn't wanted to know, and her assurances that she was happy had been enough. Now he was again starting to wonder if inception had taken place.

"I was waiting for something better to come along, but it never would. I had to rescue myself for a change." Ariadne came back and kissed his lips tenderly. "I couldn't wait for someone to save me, and I couldn't stand by while others were hurt the way I was."

"That's the Ariadne I know. You've always been a fighter."

"And so are you. There's no other way you could have come back to us otherwise." She patted his chest fondly. "Go on, get ready for bed. I'll drag Arthur away from his computer. Leave any other disasters for another day."

Good advice to follow. If only he could take it.

***

Over the next several days, Eames had the feeling that he was at war. Or working for MI6 again somehow, because there was that much tension in the household. Everyone was a professional, so Christopher's cutting remarks or sullen moods didn't outwardly engender a response. It was hard to keep his stoic expression, and he could tell by the way that Arthur stalked off that he was upset. He was holding it in, and merely grew more vicious over the phone with clients who he felt were being even more idiotic than usual. Eames wanted to kiss him silly and maybe jerk him off, see if that helped take the edge off of his irritability. He didn't dare do such a thing with Christopher in the house. It made him feel vaguely guilty even grasping his own cock in the shower, imagining Ariadne's soft skin or Arthur's fierce expression.

Eames was supposed to be a father now. He was supposed to be responsible. All he wanted to do was shove either of his lovers down and have his wicked way with them. Or have one of them cradle him and tell him that the nightmarish part of this would be over soon. He had a son now, but he had no idea how to deal with it. None of them had family they could rely on. They were alone in this mess, and if Christopher had a meltdown that led to aggression and vicious name calling, there was no one to guide them through it. There was no one to give them advice telling them what they needed to do in order to get it to stop.

He felt isolated, and knew that Christopher had to be feeling the same way.

Christopher balked at seeing the therapist that Arthur found. Sophie Teac had good experience with behavior modification techniques, aggressive children and blended families. She was also being paid an exorbitant amount of money for utter confidentiality regarding their personal life, and Arthur had managed to get her to agree to a separate nondisclosure agreement due to his security company. There was certainly fodder enough for her psychodynamic theories, though she wisely kept it to herself.

The adults had a session first for background, and they relied heavily on Eden's notes and comments. The second session was mostly Christopher's, and Sophie explained in all seriousness that he had sat there for nearly a half hour in perfect aggravated silence. Then at the end he blurted out "Do I have to come back?"

"I think so, yes," she had replied in her accented English.

That had started a diatribe she hadn't responded to, and he had tried to break a table in her office as he screamed. "That is quite enough," she told him firmly, opening the door. "Next week we can begin again."

He had fumed, but he didn't disagree. He sat there with his arms crossed and an angry expression on his face as Sophie went through suggestions for a behavior plan in their home and scheduling rewards for good behavior. She had handouts for Arthur to look at; Eames was fairly certain it was part of the reason why Arthur had chosen her. He very much liked order and structure, and having someone put the chaos of Christopher's behavior onto a chart format appealed to him. To be perfectly honest, it appealed to Eames, too. He wanted to turn around and hit something in his frustration, though he knew he couldn't.

"What about other classes with children his age?" he asked suddenly, as Sophie was wrapping up the explanation about her behavior chart. "Like martial arts or swimming lessons, things like that? There aren't children in our building."

Christopher was even more still than before, carefully listening without the appearance of listening. Sophie nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion. "Yes, those are very good. They involve discipline and structure, both of which are crucial right now."

"I'll look into it," Arthur said immediately, nodding and adding it to his notebook. Ariadne gave everyone broad smiles, as if she could simply encourage everyone to act properly. Oh, Eames knew her better than that, but the constant smiles at him felt less like support and more like she was patronizing him.

It suddenly occurred to him that Christopher might feel the same way. The insight made him feel a little sorry for the boy, though he was sure the sympathy would end as soon as he got smashed in the face again.

***  
***


	3. Christopher

The ceiling was different, and it took a minute or two for Christopher to remember why. The bed was more or less the same; it was hard to really screw up a twin size mattress. The sheets were softer and the comforter was thicker. There wasn't any noise from neighbors and he couldn't hear any quiet muffled crying. Sometimes he had felt bad about making Eden cry so much. At other times, he wanted to keep hitting her. She kept pretending to care about what happened to him and she was trying to replace his mother. Christopher couldn't allow that.

His mother wasn't dead. She couldn't be. She was too smart for that, and it only meant that it wasn't safe to come back for him yet. Shelley Baker was no idiot, and she would never draw any kind of attention to him.

But he couldn't remember her very well. He had the same coloring and the same kind of hair, he knew that. The cadence in her voice was different from his, and he almost couldn't remember the way she sounded. She said things like "Yes indeed" instead of yes. She talked about warmer weather and sunny skies and how much she hated being penned in by clouds. She smiled a lot when she was with him, laughing at his awful jokes or when she was explaining things that e-school didn't explain clearly. Half of the time he hated the men she spent time with; they either tried too hard to be his friend or ignored that he existed, and most of them were complete assholes. He had always been glad that none of the men stuck around for very long, but he always wondered who his father was.

None of those assholes were his father, he knew that much. Christopher always used to wonder if his father was an even bigger asshole than the rest of them, or if he just hated Shelley that much. He had always thought that his father must have bigger secrets than his mother, that something awful had to have happened. He used to say that his father was a secret agent, someone like James Bond. His father was off saving the world. That was why he ignored them; the world needed all of his attention. At other times he thought his father must be dead.

It never occurred to him that Shelley wouldn't have told his father that he existed. 

He missed her, but Christopher also felt as though he only carried the memory of memories. They were fuzzy and faded now, not sharp or clear as before. He was forgetting her, and that terrified him. He couldn't remember too many things, and the pictures didn't always help. He once tried to ask Eden, but she responded with a convoluted story that he lost track of. She wanted to replace Shelley, anyway. Christopher didn't want any part of that, and felt disloyal for the times he had enjoyed with her and Geordie. Well, except for Saturday morning pancakes, since Shelley couldn't make them as well. Or omelettes. Geordie was a good cook, and Eden was pretty good, too. Shelley had a list of takeaway menus and simple things she could make, but cooking wasn't something she enjoyed much.

It didn't matter now. They had their own baby now, and they didn't need him anymore. They said they still wanted him, but he knew what all the screaming was about. It was an excuse to make themselves feel better. Then they could give him away and pretend they weren't at fault. They could say it was all his fault, that he was so nasty and rotten and awful. They hadn't wanted him anyway. He wasn't their kid, and they could never love him as much as their own child. Oh, they could _say_ they did, but he knew better. He didn't belong to them. It was an obligation to his mother, some kind of hold that Shelley had on them. They didn't actually give a shit about him, not how it counted.

These three people now in charge of him were total strangers. He didn't know them, didn't know of them, didn't _want_ to know them. He had tried screaming and hitting them, all the things that made Eden cry or Geordie shout, and they didn't have the good sense to have normal reactions. Eames didn't even move when Christopher had rammed the back of his skull into his mouth. Those raggedy teeth had cut his lip, and he had felt the blood in his hair and the back of his neck. Eames hadn't moved at all, had barely even made a sound. It was like he was used to getting hurt, he knew how to bottle up the pain and simply take it.

That kind of thought made Christopher feel guilty, so he immediately stopped thinking it. This was a stranger. He was kidnapping Christopher. His mother would never find him when she came back. He would be _gone,_ and no one but Eden and Geordie would tell Shelley where he was. And they hated him, of course, so Shelley would never find him. Christopher had to fight these newcomers. Staying with Eden wasn't completely awful, but it wasn't home and she wasn't his mother and he wasn't her kid. She didn't love him, _couldn't_ love him, and he didn't want her to. He wanted his own mother, and he didn't want anything to do with these strangers forcing him to move to a completely different country.

Fucking bastards.

He could imagine his mother spitting out the words, holding onto a slim cigarette, smoke curling in her mouth. He could imagine the twist of her lips, the vile curses and threats falling from them with easy familiarity. Shelley almost didn't think about the things she said, and she certainly didn't sensor herself just because her son was five or six. "You have to learn about the wicked world sometime," she laughed.

It wasn't funny. It was never funny, but he hadn't understood at the time. His life had been third year maths, geography, spelling, reading and physical science. She taught him Mandarin out of tattered books she had saved from her own girlhood, tonal syllables flowing easily. He knew the words already, he just didn't know what they had looked like. She let him pick another language, and he had rolled the dice from the Monopoly set to settle on French. At least he would get some use out of it now, since he was in Paris. Shelley had only known some basic Mandarin, but not enough to work in any Mandarin-speaking areas. She called herself a monolingual American expat, whatever that was, and pushed languages and knowledge on Christopher.

The only thing she never explained was the silver briefcase she and her shady friends used to carry around. He had known it was special, but he hadn't known exactly why. They talked in whispers that abruptly cut off when he was around, and sneaking a peek when she wasn't looking didn't tell him much.

"He's been cracking down on shit so long he don't know when to stop," Christopher remembered someone telling his mother. She snapped the case shut after checking its contents, glaring at the speaker. "You know I'm right."

"Fuck you," Shelley had replied. She hadn't seen Christopher hiding behind her desk. "I call the shots around here, not you. I can go see what he wants. It's been at least four years. He's the one that never knew the truth, anyway."

Christopher still didn't know who they were talking about; obviously it couldn't be about him. He knew things. Shelley was always telling him things he shouldn't know, and she had promised to teach him to shoot when he was big enough to hold her pistol steady.

He wondered where her Browning went. Eden didn't have it. Christopher had scoured the apartment one night when he couldn't sleep. He checked all the usual places and all the unusual places; Shelley used to keep guns and knives stashed everywhere, as well as extra magazines and boxes of ammunition. She believed in being prepared, and Christopher learned quickly that being prepared meant having secret hidey holes everywhere. Eden didn't have any at her apartment, but he wasn't terribly surprised by that. She wasn't very prepared.

The townhouse was quiet. Christopher hadn't moved at all, and it was still too early for most people to be awake. He couldn't even hear outside sounds.

Quietly, he sat up in the bed, pushing aside the soft sheets and comforter. He had a thousand excuses already ready. _I had to go to the bathroom_ was a great one. Or _I had a bad dream_ or _I just wanted a drink of water._

Bare feet didn't make much noise, even on hardwood flooring. His toes curled against the bare wood until he reached the area rug. It was nicely plush, good to feel beneath his toes. It didn't take long to look through this room for hiding spots. There weren't too many, but he did find a good place to hide his photo album. These strangers didn't need to see his memories of his mother, however faded and fragile they were. They were _private,_ like whatever Shelley and those assholes got up to in her locked bedroom when he was supposed to be sleeping. He didn't like the strange noises, as if she was being hurt, but she was always fine in the morning when the assholes left.

Christopher had his hand on the doorknob to his room. He moved the knob very slowly, quietly letting the pins in the lock fall into place. That was something else he had been promised he would learn. He had thought lock picking would be a good skill to learn, and Shelley had thought it would be a good one. Eden hadn't agreed.

Ariadne's office was next to his room; the room across from his was locked. Good secrets were probably in there. He would have to try again later.

For the moment, her office was quiet. There were models of a park and buildings, file cabinets, a drafting table next to a desk with a computer, printer and scanner. The drawers held notebooks, pens, markers, printer paper or architecture journals. Nothing secret.

She had said she didn't have to try being the good cop. Did that mean she was the good one out of the three of them?

One of the drawers wasn't as deep as it should have been. Apparently he had been too hasty in his assessment of Ariadne. All those professional journals piled in the drawer distracted him from the actual dimensions of the drawer. _Hide things in plain sight,_ Shelley used to tell him. _People won't think to look any further._

The false bottom of the drawer hid a Beretta 92FS, spare magazine and a folded knife. Ariadne just got infinitely more interesting; Christopher remembered that one of Shelley's friends carried the same model Beretta everywhere, and didn't feel safe without a weapon in hand. He picked up the pistol and found it was heavier than it looked. Replacing it where he found it, he put the false bottom back into place. There was another desk with a computer in the room, but its drawers were empty. He felt beneath the drawers and the desk itself, but nothing was there. The secrets had to be on the computer, but he didn't want to alert anyone that he was looking around yet. He wanted to know what he was working with first.

Christopher thought of the scary looking men and women that visited his mother, the money that changed hands. This Arthur guy had money, gobs of money. What kind of secrets did this man buy and sell?

The three of them shared a room. Christopher wondered if it was because one of them kept watch at all times, making sure he didn't make good on his threats to slit their throats in their sleep. He liked that idea; he was dangerous then, a worthy adversary. He was important, dammit, not some random thing to be shuttled around from house to house like a discarded library book. He was Christopher Sebastian Baker, Shelley's son, and goddammit, these people were going to fucking take him seriously.

By the time he got to the kitchen, Arthur was leaving the bedroom and heading there, too. He would have to continue searching the townhouse later. He was almost offended when Arthur didn't say anything besides "Good morning." Christopher was supposed to be here and taken care of, right? Being ignored to make coffee didn't sit right.

"I want some," he told Arthur imperiously.

"When you're older," Arthur replied, finally looking at him. "I can get you orange juice."

"I want that coffee," Christopher replied. He didn't even know what coffee tasted like, but he didn't want something different from what Arthur was having. That seemed too much like favoritism in a bad way somehow. The twitch in Arthur's jaw was worth it.

"When you're older," he repeated, moving to the fridge to get the orange juice.

Christopher knocked it out of Arthur's hands without thinking. It wasn't about the orange juice anymore, though Christopher couldn't have said what it was really about. He wanted something different and Arthur wasn't giving it to him. Arthur didn't care. Arthur _couldn't_ care anyway, since Christopher wasn't his kid.

He was _angry,_ but he couldn't explain why. He started swinging, grunting with the effort of striking Arthur. He hit the man's gut and bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. Christopher quickly started howling in rage when Arthur actually fought back, grasping him in a hold right up against his chest. The man was wiry and stronger than he looked. No matter how hard Christopher struggled, Arthur didn't let go. He tried bringing hands up to his mouth to bite, or turning his head, but Arthur seemed to anticipate that and kept his grip. Christopher tried to throw his head back and slam into his face the way he had with Eames – not Dad, never Dad, Dad was a mythical being that didn't exist and would never exist—but Arthur seemed to anticipate that, too. Instead of the sickening-satisfying crunch of lips splitting over teeth, Christopher was fighting against air. His head wasn't connecting with anything; Arthur had twisted slightly so that the end of his skull's swing only hit the man's shoulder.

Christopher howled. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be stronger and faster and better, and he was supposed to get what he wanted. He was supposed to be the best. His mother said so. Shelley didn't lie about things like that. She lied about other things, unimportant things, but never about Christopher. Never about how fast he could learn things or what he was capable of. She would never lie about that.

If he acted horribly, Arthur would have to let him go. Arthur would have to send him away. He didn't know where he would go, but he didn't care. Eden and Geordie didn't want him, and these strangers couldn't want him. Eames wasn't truly his father. It must be a lie. His mother wouldn't keep quiet about something like that. Shelley wasn't mean that way. She wasn't that kind of woman. She lied only about unimportant things, like not having ice cream left even if he knew there was a single cup left in the back of the freezer. She always told him the truth about exams and doctor visits and where she kept the weapons in the house. Christopher always knew that she would come home if she could. She worked a dangerous job, even if she joked about it, even if sometimes he cried himself to sleep worrying about whether or not she would come home. She gave a shit about him, she was his mother, she was _everything,_ and she wasn't dead, goddammit. She couldn't be dead. She was just hiding somewhere to stay safe. She would come home again, and she would take him back from this place and he would never have to deal with these horrible strangers ever again.

Christopher didn't know what he was screaming at Arthur. Eames had somehow shown up and grabbed his legs to keep him from kicking Arthur's shins. Ariadne was asking something about medicine, and Eames looked stricken at the question. Christopher didn't understand why. It wasn't like he cared anyway. Arthur said something he couldn't hear over the sound of his own howling voice. He was calm, cool as a cucumber, as if holding Christopher while he was thrashing about wasn't a struggle at all.

Rage poured through him, and Christopher redoubled his efforts. He wouldn't be ignored, damn them all. He wouldn't be shunted aside. They couldn't treat him as if he was invisible. He wouldn't tolerate that shit ever again.

Ariadne disappeared. Good. Christopher didn't like her anyway. She pretended to be the nice one, but there was something there. She didn't tell the whole story. It was different from Arthur, pretending to be a whole person when he was a hollow, evil little man. Something different was wrong with her, something missing, something in what she didn't say. It was like there was a joke somewhere and Christopher wasn't in on it. Arthur had these odd eyes that looked like caves, like creatures could crawl in there and die. Eames just looked at him sadly, like it was painful just to see him standing there.

It hurt and it burned and he would be damned before admitting such a thing. _Ever._

Ariadne reappeared, features pale and drawn. Fine, then. Christopher could kick her in the face like he did with Eden. He could threaten to carve her up and she would leave him alone the same way. He wouldn't have to look at her face and have to guess what she was thinking or guard against the inevitable time she would make him leave. She hated him, had to hate him, and he hated her for that. He hated them _all_ for that.

She grabbed his hip to keep him from squirming and then he felt the sting of a needle in his buttock. Christopher screeched that she was perverted and awful and a goddamn fucking bitch, he would get his hands around her throat and choke her and take a knife to her head and cut it off if they let go and—

Everything swam and grew fuzzy. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, like there was cotton batting there. His struggles weren't coordinated anymore, and he was slipping through his own fingers, everything going gray at the edges.

 _No fucking fair,_ he tried to say, but only the F sounds came out. _This isn't right,_ he wanted to shout, but his mouth wasn't working anymore.

Darkness rushed at him. The last thing he saw was the apologetic look in Eames' eyes.

***

Christopher's room was locked. From the outside.

He banged on the door and paced the length of his room once he was able to walk around without fear of falling on his face. "You can't keep me here!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I don't belong to you! This is illegal! You don't have custody!"

He didn't want to think about how he was passed over from one person to the next to the next to the next. This wasn't what Shelley had wanted. She had told him two years ago that Geordie was going to watch over him for a week or so. Like a slumber party. Two years later, here he was in a place where she would never find him, like he was kidnapped.

Searching his room again, he found that none of his hiding places were found. There was his album, right where he had placed it. He never got around to getting a kitchen knife for his room. Next time he would take Ariadne's knife or gun. If it was hidden, she wouldn't know it was gone right away. He hadn't trained with a gun before, but how hard could it be? Point at the target, squeeze the trigger. His mother made it look easy.

Christopher stilled when he realized there was a camera in the room now, one of those baby monitor things. Now they knew where his hiding places were, and now they knew he was capable of searching out places to hide things. _Fuck._

Just to be contrary, he stuck his middle finger up at the camera, just the way he knew his mother would have done. It didn't change matters and didn't help him feel better at all, but he couldn't cry now, not when there was a camera there.

He went to the bed and pulled the blanket over his head. If they couldn't see him, they couldn't know he was crying. They wouldn't think he was weak and take advantage of him. They couldn't hurt him with that knowledge.

He missed his mother. Where was she? Why wasn't it safe to come home? Why couldn't she come and get him? What happened that she had to leave him stuck with strangers? Or did she know where he was and felt he was too bad to take home?

No, Shelley would never do that. He was the light of her life. She said so all the time. Used to say so. Still would, if she was here.

There was no one coming for him. No one cared. He was all alone in a house of strangers and all they wanted to do was hurt him. He would have to cry himself to sleep again.

Christopher tensed when the door opened and there was the dip of someone's weight at the end of the bed. He guessed Eames; Arthur and Ariadne seemed too slight to make that big a dip. He didn't touch Christopher or speak.

Wiping his eyes before pulling down the blanket, Christopher looked at Eames. He wanted the first words out of his mouth to be hateful, but what he actually said was "What are you doing here?" with less snarl than he intended.

"You fight like she does," Eames remarked out of nowhere. Christopher could only stare. Eden and Geordie didn't talk openly about Shelley at all, as if it was something dangerous. "You look like her, too, of course. Some bits look like me, I suppose. But you're mostly Shelley. You cuss up a storm the way she does," he added with a wry smile.

He didn't want to like Eames, didn't want to bond over Shelley's questionable language and underhanded fighting tactics. But he knew her, the real her, and he wasn't afraid to talk about her. No one else knew Shelley like that. "She's coming for me," Christopher told him, fire in his belly at the thought. "She'll hate you for what you did."

"I know she'd be here in a heartbeat if she could be," Eames told him solemnly. That was different, too. Eden would just cry and say that he was alone in the world now, that she had to protect him. That just made Christopher angry. Shelley was better than that.

Christopher sat up and pulled his knees up to his chest. He felt so small and vulnerable, and he hated that feeling. "She'd skin you alive."

"Oh, she's nearly done that once," Eames said easily, ghost of a smile on his lips. "I'm sure she'd tear a strip off of me if she could."

He wanted to ask how Eames knew his mother, what his mother had meant to him. Why wouldn't she have told him that Christopher even existed? Did she think he would take him away from her? Did she think Eames would hurt him?

"Your lip's not as swollen anymore."

Eames touched his lower lip almost self-consciously. Christopher thought that he would have felt better from seeing the vulnerability there, but instead it made him feel guilty and sad. He hated that feeling, too. "Yeah, well, a good split like that generally's worst the first day. Should be another day or so and all the swelling will be gone."

"You had swollen lips a lot before?"

"There's been a lot going on before," Eames replied vaguely. It was the same kind of vagueness that Ariadne used before, and Christopher narrowed his eyes at Eames. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth, either.

"I don't want you here," Christopher lied. Well, maybe it wasn't entirely a lie. Eames made him feel uncomfortable, as if he should be guilty for how bad he'd been, as if he had to actually apologize for the awful things he said. And he hated that, just like sometimes he hated Eames for not knowing he existed, for not realizing Christopher was around. Eames should have been there if he cared, should have known something was going on. Didn't he know Shelley? But she kept secrets all the time. She didn't always tell the truth.

Christopher was confused, stomach tied up into knots. His chest felt tight and his throat burned as if he had swallowed something and gotten it stuck. He wanted to pummel something, see if that got rid of the feeling. It _hurt,_ and no one seemed to understand that.

Eames was just silent for a long time, looking at him. _Looking,_ like he could peer inside Christopher's skull and just pluck the thoughts out and see them, as if he could read the tangled monstrous feelings like a book. "For better or for worse," Eames began slowly, "you've got me. And as long as you've got me and I've got them, you've got Arthur and Ariadne, too." He got up, and Christopher almost wanted to reach out and grab him to make him stay. His fist even slid down from his knee, though he stopped himself from actually touching Eames in time. He didn't want the man to think Christopher _needed_ him or anything. Christopher couldn't afford that. It was too dangerous to want anything. It was too dangerous to _need._ They could go away or get rid of him, no matter what they said. Christopher couldn't trust in that.

"I don't want you," he said, though it wasn't the angry snarly voice he had wanted to use. Dammit. "I don't want you," Christopher repeated, but it came out more like a whisper.

"I know," Eames replied, voice gentle and just as soft. He reached out but stopped just short of touching Christopher, as if he was afraid to. The boy hadn't considered that as a possibility, and suddenly the thought that he could be scary to Eames was startling. Eames was big and muscular and didn't look like anything should ever scare him. What could be so scary about a skinny kid like him?

Eames stood when Christopher remained silent. "I know you'd rather be with Shelley. I'm not her, obviously. And I can't replace her. I'm not trying to, and neither are Arthur and Ariadne. We just want to keep you safe."

Christopher didn't know how to reply to that. His lips parted, but he couldn’t speak. Eames just looked at him sadly, then left the room. The door was a crack open, but unlocked.

After a moment, he crept from the room, intending to spy on Eames. He was in the sitting room with Arthur and Ariadne, the three of them squeezed together on the couch. It was kind of like the way Eden and Geordie snuggled close together when he was supposed to be asleep, not knowing how much they took comfort out of each other. He didn't have that anymore, not without Shelley. Then again, Christopher would never tell anyone how much he wanted that, how much he missed burrowing into someone's warmth and hearing their steady heartbeat, knowing that he was safe. Eames _said_ he wanted Christopher safe. But he was a stranger, really. He didn't mean it. He _couldn't_ mean it, because people just didn't do that. They didn't try to protect others just for the sake of protecting them. Shelley had always told him the world could be an evil, nasty place. She was the only one that could protect him, and she was the only one that wanted to.

But he wanted that more than he could say, more than he wanted to even admit to himself. It was tiring being on guard all the time. He wanted to be invisible but he hated it at the same time.

His head ached and his chest hurt. Maybe he was as hollow as Arthur's eyes, worrying himself thin in places. Maybe that was how Eames could see through him, plucking his thoughts right out of his head as soon as he thought them.

"I don't know what to do," Eames was saying softly. Ariadne was curled up between the two men, her head on his shoulder. Arthur was leaning into her, head not quite touching hers. "I want to just shake him sometimes, tell him I'm not the bastard he thinks I am. Or just tell him how bad it was, everything that happened. But I can't do that to a little boy."

"It's brand new for everyone," Ariadne said reasonably.

"It hasn't even been a month," Arthur pointed out. "We only saw Sophie three times. This kind of thing won't change overnight, you know that."

"Logically I do..."

"I didn't feel the same for years," Ariadne said in that quiet way she had. Christopher found himself leaning in to try to listen. "I didn't click with the first few therapists. I hated them, actually. Chris at least seems to be okay with Sophie, and she's not telling us to go away. So if we give it enough time..."

"But that's the hard part, isn't it?" Arthur asked Eames. "That time is the only answer for this?" He reached across Ariadne, though Christopher couldn't see what he was doing. "There's no magic formula, no way that works for everyone."

Eames blew out a frustrated breath. "What the hell am I doing? Who the hell says I can be a father? I don't know how to be one." He ran his hand through his hair, tugging slightly in frustration. "I'm going to screw something up."

Ariadne kissed his cheek gently. "But that fear keeps you honest. That helps you know you're going to do a good job. You're too invested in this, then. You won't let it fail."

"And you're not going to do it alone," Arthur said. He didn't sound like the hollow eyed monster Christopher had seen earlier. He sounded like he cared, like it mattered what Eames thought, like he wanted to see them all happy.

Christopher retreated to his room and curled up in the bed, pulling the blanket over his head again. He wanted someone to want him to be happy. He wanted someone to cuddle with and care what happened to him. He wanted that so badly he ached with it, but he didn't think it was going to happen. Those people cared about each other, not him, and it was only a matter of time before he was thrown away again.

And if that was going to happen, he would make sure it happened on his own terms.

***  
***


	4. Making Connections

Eames rubbed at his eyes as he stared at his computer. He felt almost numb, as if it was too much trouble to think. He could still see the imprint of the Network behind his eyes when he closed them, and it was time to pull away from it. There was almost a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he was growing more unsettled by the thought of being part of the Dream Killer team. It wasn't a fair thought; now that he knew more about what was going on, he could see that Arthur wasn't some sort of man that was thrill seeking with the killings. He could be a creepy, sociopathic bastard, but there was a definite purpose to it. Eames could understand Arthur's impulses, but it didn't mean he wanted to emulate him any longer. Ariadne had happily taken to doing other things as well, mostly building illegal dreams or subcontracting as a real world architect with the documents Eames had forged for her. He was the only one out of sorts at the moment, and the addition of a child brought that into sharp relief for him.

He still didn't know what to do about Christopher. It was nearly two months since he had come to live with them. The boy still had frequent meltdowns, screaming, hitting, kicking and biting. Eames still had blacks and blues in places, and he couldn’t figure out what was triggering the outbursts. Suggesting that they visit a psychiatrist had led to another outburst from Christopher, where he screamed that they were trying to drug him, that he was going to be a zombie and they were all fucking idiots. It was tiring, and it was easier to simply let the matter drop than to try to deal with more physical abuse.

Spring had slid into summer without his realizing it, and Eames heaved a sigh as he shut off his computer. He found Christopher in the living room, finishing up a project for e-school. He hadn't wanted the summer off, and it seemed like something they could easily do for him. "Almost done?" Eames asked, coming into the room.

"Why?" Christopher asked, eyes narrowed slightly. He was still so prickly, and some days it took everything in Eames' bag of tricks to remain impassive.

"I've been cooped up all morning at my desk and I wanted a bit of fresh air. Thought you might like to join me. Maybe we can head to the park or something, grab a bite for lunch at a café." The thought of leaving the townhouse visibly appealed, and he nodded wordlessly. "Brilliant," Eames said with a slight smile. "I'll get my wallet."

Arthur was working on a contract and Ariadne was in the exercise room on the treadmill. He didn't interrupt either of them, and headed out with Christopher. The boy was mostly silent during the walk, keeping pace with his leisurely stroll. After a while, Eames began a monologue about the stores and neighbors in the area that he knew. They settled in a park and sat on a bench. Christopher remained silent as they sat there side by side. Eames looked at Christopher, but he was looking everywhere he could to avoid looking at Eames.

"It's different from London here," Eames began. He could always default to asking what Christopher wanted for lunch, but it felt like he had an opportunity here to do more than that. It was like courting a dangerous criminal to turn informant and be cooperative. And wasn't that heartbreaking, that he was comparing a child to vicious criminals? Though Christopher seemed just as volatile sometimes.

Christopher looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he replied grudgingly.

"Different from Scotland, too. Major cities each have a different kind of energy, different pace to do things. Ariadne could explain that in architecture terms, I'm sure. She's grown into that role pretty well by now." Eames looked out across the park. For a moment, he almost mentioned that this was too new, that she used to be part of the FBI, and it really had nothing to do with what Christopher would experience now. "Sometimes it takes a while to really get to know a place. I've lived here maybe a year and a half now, and it still feels like I'm just visiting."

Now Christopher turned his head. "Where were you before?"

"I used to live in London. Though I traveled a lot, so I lived out of hotels, too. Lonely lot that was sometimes," he added almost as an afterthought.

"So you lived near us," he said, an almost accusing note in his voice.

"I don't know. Maybe. I know Shelley lived in Soho at one time, and she had a hidey hole in Brixton and that sort of thing. When I knew her, she was living in Harrow."

"We lived in Stroud Green."

"Ah. I wasn't there much," Eames murmured. "I had a tiny flat in Bayswater."

They both fell silent for a time; Eames wasn't sure how much he wanted to say and Christopher wasn't sure if curiosity would mean more emotional involvement. Finally, Christopher caved and asked "Why did you live there?"

"I worked in Westminster," Eames replied easily enough. "For the Yard after I got out of MI6," he clarified at the odd look Christopher shot him. "It's how I met your Mum years ago."

"How...?" Christopher asked, not quite able to hide the eager note in his voice.

"How much did your Mum tell you about her business dealings?"

Christopher was frustrated by the evasion. "Goddammit..."

"There are details to what she did that are not exactly above board," Eames told him flatly. "What did she tell you about what she did?"

"Not much," he grumbled. "She met with assholes and there was a silver briefcase she never let me touch. She was out a lot."

"Yeah, well, that business of hers wasn't always legal," Eames said. "At one point we worked together to catch others in that business." He looked away from Christopher's intent gaze. "And when orders came down for me to shut down _everyone_ in the business, including your Mum, she faked her death so I wouldn't be forced to choose."

"Choose what?"

"Her and that business she was in or sticking to the law. Her way to protect everyone, I suppose. I didn't find out until almost two years ago she was even still alive. She never once mentioned you." He didn't say it was about the time of the purge of illicit dreamers, didn't say that his involvement with Shelley had been something more than it should have been.

Christopher looked out over the grassy park, discontent making him want to fidget or punch something. Maybe Eames' face again. "Would you even care?"

"I'd like to think I'd try," Eames replied, turning to look at his son. _His son._ The words just felt wrong in his head. He shouldn't have offspring. He shouldn't even be alive, let alone having a child that he was responsible for. "I'm not the sort to abandon people I care about if I can help it."

Christopher couldn't keep eye contact, and he looked away first. "Tell me about her?"

"What do you want to know?"

It was different from what he was expecting, Eames could tell that much. He supposed Eden and Geordie didn't talk much about Shelley with him. Christopher weighed his options and finally settled on "Why you liked her."

Eames couldn't help it. He started laughing despite Christopher's affronted look, and had to make a waving motion for the boy to discount his action. "No, no, it's not like that. It's just that it's such a hard question to answer. Your Mum... God, just imagining her as a Mum? That foul mouth of hers? She always looked so sweet and innocent, like a perfect Southern belle, but she was smart and vicious and proud, so proud. It's not like any one thing did it for me. We fit really well, sarcastic and stupidly loyal to our own."

"Stupidly loyal?" Christopher echoed.

With a sigh, Eames nodded. "Lots happened I can't exactly explain. National security and layers of secrets and all that rot. But sometimes the trouble I took for people didn't help me out in the end. Sometimes it wound up hurting me, because I bent over backward to help people that I thought cared for me, but cared more for their own interest. I didn't know until it was too late... Does that make sense? Or is that too vague?"

Christopher sat up straighter, and for a moment the intent expression on his face was so much like Shelley's that it made Eames pause. "No, I get it. I do."

"I cared about your Mum. She meant something to me. It's..." Eames sighed and considered lying, but felt it would ruin whatever rapport he had with Christopher. "It wasn't love, exactly, Christopher. I wasn't in love with your Mum and I don't think she was in love with me. But she didn't want to hurt me and I didn't want to hurt her. The situation we were in, maybe that was the closest thing we could have ever had."

Sitting still, Christopher considered the words. "Sounds lonely," he said finally.

"Yeah. I guess it was. I didn't realize it until almost two years ago."

"When Mum disappeared."

Eames nodded and carefully watched Christopher's expression. "She agreed to help me on a job that got more dangerous than we all expected. I almost died there. My old job at the Yard?" He waited for Christopher's nod that he remembered the comment. "They still think I'm dead. I wasn't in any position to let them know any differently at first, and then when I could actually sit and think about it, I didn't want to go back. I didn't want that life anymore."

"So what do you do?"

His laughter was bitterer than he had thought it would be. "Still trying to figure that one out."

Christopher's understanding expression was more haunting than Eames considered children capable of, but it seemed to fit his personality. Shelley didn't treat him like a child in some respects, so Eames probably wouldn't be able to either. "And then I fucked it up."

"No," Eames insisted, shaking his head. "If anything, you being here gives me more reason to figure out what I'm doing. I was coasting before. Now I can't."

"So now what?" Christopher asked, head tilting slightly to the side as he contemplated him.

Eames shot him a bemused smile. "Lunch?"

Christopher rolled his eyes. "I meant after. With your big plans and all that."

"Time enough to figure that part out."

"So you don't know."

"No. But I'm not going to force that along," Eames replied with a shrug. "I have time to decide what's in store for me and make sure that it fits. There's no rush in making things work out perfectly immediately. It does or it doesn't."

Looking startled, Christopher backed away slightly. "Oh."

"I have the luxury of time now. Arthur and Ariadne saved my life two years ago, and I'm not going to waste it on something not right for me."

Christopher nodded as if he understood, then accompanied Eames to lunch without complaint.

***

Following her workout that morning, Ariadne took a long, leisurely shower. She felt worn out, and it wasn't from the running. She had always been the kind that appreciated a good run, but lately she used the home gym rather than run around the city in case Eames needed the moral support. She couldn't say that she loved Christopher, since he seemed to go out of his way to make that difficult sometimes. But she understood the lost feeling that had to be driving the awful behaviors, and she was feeling mentally exhausted from dealing with it so often. Eames couldn't take much more, but he was holding it in for Christopher's sake. Ariadne felt like she had to be there to help if he collapsed, but it was more tension than what she had grown used to dealing with. It probably didn't help that the three of them slept in bed and hadn't so much as kissed with passionate intent since meeting Christopher. She was frustrated in more than one sense, and that wasn't helping the situation.

After rinsing out the shampoo from her hair, Ariadne leaned against the tiles and let the warm water sluice over her. She kept her eyes closed and simply breathed deeply, rubbing at her jaw and trying to relax. After a moment, she opened her eyes and reached up for the shower massager. If she couldn't have her lovers with her, a little solo time would probably help her feel less tense. Twisting the setting for a stronger jet of water, she angled it between her legs and let out a soft sigh when the pressure hit her clit. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feel of the water hitting her, a pounding pulse that started making her breath quicken after a moment. She closed her other hand around a breast and rolled her own nipple between her fingers, imagining Arthur's hands on her and his breath warm and wanting against her skin.

Rising up onto the balls of her feet, Ariadne canted her hips toward the water, rocking them slightly to get the angle just right. She bit her lip and twisted her fingers a little harder, feeling herself tighten around nothing. Panting a little, Ariadne threw her head back and let the water do the work, coaxing her toward an orgasm. And then another right on its heels, making her breath catch and her legs feel wobbly. She leaned against the tiles again, tilting her wrist slightly so that the edge of the water jet hit her clit instead. That helped bring her down without being too overstimulating, though she could still feel a throbbing there.

Opening her eyes, she saw Arthur standing there, lips drawn into an amused smile as he held the shower curtain open. He was half hard watching her. "Eames and Chris went to the park," he told her. "Want me to join you?"

"God, yes," she said without thinking, letting the shower massager fall from her hand. "It's always better with you."

Arthur shucked his clothes quickly and stepped into the shower, snapping the curtain shut behind him. He immediately seized her mouth in a kiss, hands tangling in her wet hair. She slid her arms around him, feeling muscles flex beneath her fingertips. Their tongues touched and moved over each other, tasting the insides of each others' mouths. Ariadne's body was already pleasantly humming, and the feel of his skin against hers was delicious. It had felt like forever since it was just the two of them, taking the time to re-explore each other, she touched him everywhere, closing her hand around his cock. "Mmm, not yet," he murmured with a secretive smile, pulling away from her.

Before she could question the move, he knelt in front of her and moved to lick at her, his hands steadying her hips. Ariadne leaned against the tiles, head fallen back and mouth open as she gasped for breath. She lifted a leg and rested her foot on the other side of the large tub, and Arthur moved into the space quickly. He pushed his tongue deeply inside of her, nose rubbing against her clit. When he moved to lightly suck it, he slid two fingers inside her wet heat, stretching her a little. Knowing they were alone, Ariadne didn't bother to smother her gasps and cries. She rocked into him, fingers digging into his hair and tugging to keep him locked into place and licking into her.

Arthur stood and pressed her against the wall after she came, knees nearly buckling. He kissed her hungrily, one hand tangling in her hair and the other at her hip to help brace her. "I like," she murmured when he moved to kiss her neck. "We haven't had shower sex in a while."

"We haven't had _sex_ in a while," he corrected, lips against her shoulder. He lifted her up and angled himself at her entrance. "Not as just the two of us or even as all three of us together."

"How do parents do it?" she wondered. "Obviously they have to have sex again, or else there wouldn't be younger siblings in the world."

Arthur slid into her, which made her moan deliciously. "I'll research the subject," he told her with a smile. "I'm sure dream sex won't count."

"That's cheating," Ariadne replied, voice fracturing as he slowly withdrew and then slid back inside her. "Fuck, do that again, just like that."

He did, more than once, and with generous enthusiasm. Ariadne gasped and moaned, gripping him with her internal muscles to try to make him groan as well. Arthur slipped at one point, crushing her against the wall. "Change position?" he offered apologetically.

"If no one's home, let's just go to bed," Ariadne countered.

Damp and wonderfully naked, Ariadne pushed Arthur down so she could climb on top of him. She rode him hard and fast, until she was shaking with need and he was gritting his teeth to keep from coming. It finally grew too much for him, and Arthur let go with a groan. She kept going until he cried out for her to stop since he was too sensitive. Ariadne pouted but did so, then draped herself over him to kiss his cheek. "I missed that."

"Me, too," he murmured, trailing his fingertips down her back. "I suppose we'll need to clean up and get dressed. Can't walk around naked with a child in the house."

"Yeah. I missed ogling you."

Arthur gave a soft huff of laughter. "There's always dreaming together."

"Still cheating," she declared with a smile.

"It'll probably be the only time you see me walking around naked like that."

"I'll think about it," she replied, smile evident in her voice as she burrowed into his warmth. "Do you think we'll all figure out the parenting thing?"

"He doesn't have anyone else," Arthur said, feeling almost as though he had said the very same thing not too long ago. It was probably in reference to Eames after rescuing him from Mombasa, though he couldn't regret that. "We're all he's got. We're his family now."

Ariadne kissed his neck and squeezed him tightly. "Yeah, we are. It's just so hard sometimes, like he _wants_ to drive us away."

"He probably does," Arthur murmured. "How can someone hurt you by leaving if you're the one pushing them out the door?"

Sighing, Ariadne nodded against his chest. "I try not to rise to it."

"Standard tactic, splitting the adults. I did it all the time growing up."

"Should we fear for the future of society then?" Ariadne teased, raising her head to look at him.

"With us as role models?" he asked in an arch tone. "Absolutely."

Ariadne kissed him softly. Somehow, it didn't seem quite the scary threat it should have.

***

"So what do you do?"

Arthur looked up from the book he was reading and contemplated Christopher. Ariadne had been seized by inspiration for a job she was working on and was sketching something in her office. Eames was taking a late night run to clear his head after the last screaming match, which had been started by refusing an extra helping of dessert. "Why aren't you in bed yet?"

Christopher scowled at Arthur. "I'm not tired," he said, lifting his chin defiantly.

Determined not to let him devolve into another tantrum, Arthur merely lofted an eyebrow at the boy. "I think I have a cure for that, then." He slipped a bookmark into the book and put it aside. "Come with me."

At first he seemed ready to pitch a hissy fit, but Arthur headed to his office instead of the bedrooms. "You're an intelligent enough kid. I've been monitoring your progress in the online classes. This will be a challenge."

Christopher didn't even bother to hide his curiosity when Arthur unlocked the door to his office. "What's in there?" he asked, pointing to the file cabinets.

"Contracts or research," Arthur replied. "I have an actual office for my company, which handles both real world and online security consulting work. This is my personal office, for jobs that don't use official channels."

He looked at Arthur with interest now. "Did you ever work with my Mum?"

"No, but I did hear good things about her work." The boy didn't need to know that the comments had been on certain message boards on the Ghost Network. The less he was involved with that, the better. Arthur went to one of the shelves and handed Christopher a book. He made no move to pick it up at first. "It's cryptography. The science of codes and secrets."

Eyes lighting up, Christopher took the book. He thought it over and stopped before they left the office. "Why are you giving me this?"

Arthur leaned in, and Christopher leaned back slightly in response, looking almost afraid. "In case you haven't noticed," he began in a low tone, "this is a house full of secrets. Not all of them are written down and most of them can never be shared. I challenge you to invent a code I can't break. Put your mind to better use than you've been doing so far."

Clearly he wanted to bristle at the implication he was wasting everyone's time, but Christopher didn't say a word. "When is that supposed to happen?"

"We want you to go to bed at a reasonable time," Arthur said, voice still soft and vaguely menacing as he spoke. "We didn't say anything about being asleep. But you're still expected to fulfill all your duties during the day. If you nap at all, I take the book away. Deal?"

Christopher blinked and tightened his hand on the book. "Deal."

As he ran toward his room, Arthur straightened up. He heard a distinct chuckle from the room across the hall. "Are you sure you want to encourage him?" Ariadne called out from her desk.

Arthur strolled across the hall and leaned against the door frame with a smirk in place. "He'll go to bed now, won't he? We can't bully him into submission, so we might as well work with the kid to get what we want."

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him. "God, we are awful parents, aren't we? I mean, I know I tell Eames all the time his heart's in the right place, but what kind of parent tells their kid to become a code writer?"

"The kind that works in the field we do," Arthur said quietly. "Were you really all that innocent as a child?"

Her expression hardened slightly. "Not afterward, no."

"He doesn't have the same experience, but he's no innocent, either. We wouldn't do him any favors by treating him like one."

"I don't think Eames is," she said after a moment. "Though the martial arts are good for his concentration and discipline, I think."

"And this might give Christopher an outlet more useful than beating on the three of us." He allowed Ariadne to pull him into an embrace. "Speaking of which..." he began when he heard Eames enter the townhouse, smiling a little. "We should use the PASIV once Christopher falls asleep, just the three of us."

"Hit on the network?" Ariadne asked, pulling back to look at him.

"Nothing definite. Eames was looking into a few things earlier. No, I meant for _us._ You might call it cheating, but I think we need that. Well, _Eames_ needs something other than frustration and pain. I thought about it after we got our own time together the other day... He's brittle again. Like when we first rescued him from Mombasa." Arthur cradled her face in his palms gently, thumbs running over her chin. "He needs us to feel whole again. He needs an anchor while he figures out what he needs to do."

Ariadne covered his hands with hers as she nodded. "I guess I had hoped it wouldn't come back to this. That everything would have evened itself out already."

"It just scabbed over," Arthur murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "And now it's ripped off and he has to heal all over again."

"Because of the reminder that Shelley didn't make it, you think?"

Arthur pondered that one for a moment. "Maybe. But for the entire time he's been with us, he's been on autopilot, I think. He hasn't made any big decisions. It was always our call, whether it was where to live, who the next target was, how the takedown would be. The most he would do is try to fuck up the forensics, and even that is pretty minor for him. He's been coasting. We've let him so far."

Ariadne sighed. "It's been nice to coast. Things were good as they were."

"But the situation is changed now."

"Yes," she admitted. "I suppose I was hoping it wouldn't be that drastic a change."

"Children usually are," Arthur commented wryly. Ariadne couldn't help but laugh, and he helped brace her weight when she got up on tip toes to kiss him. "Come on, he's probably in the bedroom cleaning up already."

"Mmm. More shower sex. I like."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh at the playful leer on her face. They went down toward the bedrooms, and Arthur couldn't help but smirk at the sight of Christopher beneath his blanket with a flashlight. Ariadne grinned at him and gave him a lighthearted shove toward the master bedroom. "Focus, Arthur," she teased.

"You've seen me focus," he answered, tugging her toward their bedroom. "I can focus on multiple things at once."

Eames was just getting out of the shower when they entered the bedroom. "Good run?" Ariadne asked, smile lighting up her face.

"God, no, I hate running. But it did help clear my head, which was rather the point of the entire exercise," he added. He gave a mock shudder. "That you voluntarily do such a nasty thing is still beyond me, even after all this time."

Ariadne laughed as usual and stood on tip toes to slant her mouth over his. Much more than that, even groping or stroking various parts of his anatomy, generally made him freeze in place. "What about Christopher...?" he usually began.

This evening was no different. Arthur anticipated that and lifted their PASIV from its hiding place beneath their bed. "Here. Maybe twenty minutes real time will be enough in the dream."

"Only twenty minutes?" Ariadne replied with a put-upon sigh. "If we must go for so little..."

"It's a start," Arthur told her while Eames merely stared at the case with the towel still slung low around his hips. "We'll see how it goes. You need a break, Eames."

"But I even ran..."

"A _real_ break. One where you're utterly relaxed and not thinking stressful thoughts."

Arthur had him there, and he could do was sigh. "When he's asleep."

Ariadne built a dreamscape that reminded him of the Italian villa he had dreamed of when he had been captive in Mombasa. Eames froze suddenly and fumbled in his pocket for the bishop that Ariadne had given him when he lost track of reality. Its weight was the same as it always was, so he knew he wasn't in someone else's dream. But he could be in his own...

She took his elbow and nodded at Arthur, who was ahead of them. "We're going to take a walk a bit first. We haven't gone under together in months."

"This is..." Eames began, unable to finish his thought completely. The words stuck in his throat, and he couldn't seem to explain the feeling of dread at the sight of the villa. He had lived there for six months _in dreams,_ only to wake up to a nightmare of reality. It turned out to be better that way in the end, as he had the real Arthur and Ariadne with him, but seeing the villa only reminded him of how much he had lost to survive to this point.

"You survived it," Ariadne said softly, running her fingers over the inside of his arm. "You lived through all of this. We're all still here. I wanted you to remember that."

She did it _deliberately,_ and some part of him wanted to shake her for torturing him this way. It wasn't her intention, but Eames wanted to shoot himself awake just to get the hell away from the villa.

But then he noticed that details were off. It _wasn't_ the exact same villa, and she had merely built it based on his descriptions of the place. The tiles weren't the same pattern, the shrubs and foliage weren't the same height or colors, the gardens weren't exactly the same. The pool wasn't the same shape, but was vaguely kidney-shaped with teal tiles instead of the pristine white rectangle it had been before. Eames was able to calm himself down and keep from throttling her. For all of her good intentions, sometimes Ariadne just plunged ahead without thinking of the consequences.

"You're not happy," she commented after a moment, stopping in the yard. They were on the threshold of the villa, and she was distressed at the thought that this could trigger bad memories for him. "I thought some time together would help, just the three of us."

"I know you mean well," Eames began slowly, making sure to keep his fingers linked through hers so that she wouldn't think he was pulling away from her. "But I don't know what to do next. This entire situation is fucked up. I want what's right for him, for us, for me. I don't know what that is, and it's not fair to any of you. I don't want to string you along or make you feel like you have to do this. I made you and Arthur stay with me before when I was sick, and it just kept going after that. I don't want this to be an obligation."

Ariadne looked at him with a stricken expression. "Is that what you think this is?"

"The dreaming opened my mind. Isn't that what you called it when you told me about the dreams you shared with Arthur? He opened your mind to possibilities? You swore up and down he never incepted you, he never made you love him."

"He didn't!"

"But you were deep enough down with him that what he wanted bled over into you. You can't deny that."

She looked at him with growing horror. "We never dreamed that far down with you. You didn't infect us or change us, Eames. You can't be thinking this way. You can't! We're both with you because we love you. Because we _want_ to be. It's not inception and it's not some kind of obligation." She threw her arms around him and held him tightly. "God, Eames, why didn't you say something to us sooner? You've been sitting across the room from me feeling alone and overwhelmed and I didn't see a damn thing. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Eames wanted to say "You don't have to be sorry," but some part of him wanted her to feel that way. He wanted her to feel helpless and alone and worthless. Maybe then he wouldn't be the only one feeling that way. It wasn't fair to her, but sometimes he didn't care about being reasonable anymore. He was out of his depth with Christopher, and he didn't know what to do next. Seeing the therapist so often only seemed to reinforce to him what a shitty parent he was.

"It's not about you," he began, realizing it sounded harsh and cruel as soon as the words left his mouth. But he couldn't unsay them, and Ariadne pulled back to look at him with sad eyes. "Ariadne," he said, not sure what to say next.

"I know, it's about you. And you're not happy, Eames. I want you to be. I want you to be able to wake up in the morning and make those awful jokes you used to. I want you to go around the day teasing me or Arthur or getting him off the computer because he's too damn driven. Even though you're the one checking the network now, your heart's not in it. You're existing and not living, Eames. And I want you to live again."

He pulled her up so that he could kiss her mouth. "Yes, that's what I want."

She smiled sadly at him and held him tightly. "I know Arthur is around here somewhere..."

"I doubled back," Arthur said behind her, approaching the pair. He slid a hand down Ariadne's back and leaned in next to them. Eames moved an arm to take him into their embrace. "Are you all right?" he asked seriously, looking him in the eye.

With a sigh, Eames gave them both a helpless look. "I don't know."

Arthur nodded slowly, as if he had to think about the words he would say next. "You never lost anything as a child, have you? Not like we did, not like Christopher did."

Eames shook his head. "Not really. I never did know my father well before he died, so it didn't hit me as hard as it hit my Mum."

"You know logically what happened to us. I think instead of all this," Arthur began, waving a hand at the villa behind him. "I think you need to feel what that kind of loss is like."

"Why? He hasn't got anyone else and I'm never going to be able to make up for that."

"He doesn't need you to," Arthur told him. Eames thought of the way he used to think that intense stare meant he felt nothing inside. What did Christopher think of it? "What Christopher needs is for you to give him purpose. You need to give him structure now, and he's not going to be able to tell you what will give him that."

"We've got rules and all that..." Ariadne began.

"Yes, yes. Everything the therapist says we need. But it's all rote. He's smart enough to know when we're just following the rules ourselves and would rather not."

"It'll come together with time," Ariadne protested. She leveled a sour look at Arthur. "We're supposed to spend this time here being _us,_ not trying to peel apart all of his motivations and reduce him to a formula."

"I know what you intended," Arthur began, "but you have to adjust and change as you go..."

And then it clicked for Eames what felt so unsettling about this entire interchange. "You can't apply Dream Killer rules to my son," Eames said, backing up a step from the two of them. 

Arthur frowned at him and Ariadne looked stricken. "Eames," she began, her voice a strained and pained squeak. Arthur said nothing for a long moment. "What do you want to do?" he asked in a level tone.

"We're all broken, and this place isn't helping. I think it's best we just leave here," Eames replied.

In an instant, the villa was gone and they were standing in a grassy field. There were no projections to be found; the three of them were too good at suppressing them at this point and Ariadne tended to automatically place their workspace in the center of an elaborate maze to keep any stray ones out. Eames had meant to wake from the dream, but this already seemed to help him regain his equilibrium. She touched his arm gently, so that he could shake her off if he wanted to, but he didn't want to drive her off. He just wished for everything to be settled without his input. It was too much to make decisions just then.

Ariadne's touch was soft and gentle, and she pulled him down for a kiss. He responded to her, same as always. He couldn't help it, and he wasn't angry with her. She was trying to do what she thought was helpful. Eames didn't always notice her doing that, but he had done a bang up job ignoring minor problems until they were huge and impossible to navigate around.

Arthur stood back, arms crossed over his chest as he observed them kiss. Eames could see his stony expression out of the corner of his eye and blindly reached out for him. Arthur was just out of reach, so he broke the kiss to turn and grasp his arm firmly. "You're being deliberately difficult, you bastard," Eames growled at him. Arthur didn't unfold his arms or look as though he heard the words. "Not everything makes logical sense. _You_ don't make logical sense. The three of us together doesn't make logical sense." Eames grasped the back of his head and kissed him on the mouth, hard and almost angry.

"And that's why you're falling apart," Arthur said, moving his arms to take hold of Eames's shirt in one fist. "Because we _do,_ and you don't know how to see it when you're wrapped up in your own misery."

Somehow the three of them tumbled to the ground, a tangle of too many arms and legs and kissing mouths. Though it didn't move any farther than heavy petting, kissing with tongues and whispered promises for more, Eames found he valued this much more. The three of them together wasn't about maintaining Arthur's identity as the Dream Killer, the sex or logistics of hiding Eames. It was because they _wanted_ to be together in this tangled relationship, because they cared about him and his future, because the three of them together seemed to be better balanced than any of the pairs separately.

When the timer ran down, they woke in their bedroom. Eames stayed still for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling. Arthur removed the needle from his wrist and discarded it promptly, and Ariadne leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Doing okay?"

"For the moment," he replied. That was at least a true response.

"I suppose we did need that," Arthur admitted grudgingly, coming back to bed after stowing the PASIV. He seemed much more relaxed than when they started, and Eames pulled him down for a filthy kiss. "You seem better, too."

"I don't know any more now than I did an hour ago."

"But you're reminded that you have us," Ariadne told him, lips at his temple. "Sometimes it's hard to make the big decisions if you feel like you're the only one going through it. You're not, though. You're doing this with us, not alone. We'll help, however we can."

Arthur kept his hand on Eames' chest as Ariadne's slid lower down his abdomen. "We've got you, Eames. You belong to us, and you can't forget that." His hand tightened into a fist, catching some of Eames' shirt between his fingers. "And that means whatever problems you have are ours, too. It means he's our son, too, and we all have to figure out how to be a parent."

"The only good role models we have are Ariadne's."

"Don't discount your mother," Ariadne murmured.

"Even my father had his moments," Arthur added. "But what worked for them might not work for us. This entire situation is different, and he's not a baby. He's lost so much in such a short time. In some ways, it's not so different from what we went through." He stared at Eames with that intense expression. "What I was going to do was run you through what I've been able to find on his background, so you could see what he's lost. If you understand that, then you can figure out what he needs to feel as though he's got a stable home."

Eames remembered his own childhood in vague terms and fractured memories. "I do remember having schedules and routines and traditions." He looked at the both of them. Arthur never had that as a child, but Ariadne definitely did. "But I don't even know where to start with that."

"Perhaps it's time to visit Annalise again," Arthur murmured. "She'd definitely love to see us all again. And maybe this will keep her from asking when Ariadne will change her mind about having children." Ariadne snorted playfully and smacked his arm. "Or maybe not."

There were no decisions made, but Eames did feel more settled already. "Thank you."

Ariadne kissed him, nipping his lip playfully. Arthur merely graced him with a rare full smile, dimples showing and eyes crinkling. "You're very welcome. Now let's get some real sleep."

***  
***


	5. Building Bridges

Arthur packed his overnight bag quickly and efficiently. "I'll most likely be at the Maryland house for most of this trip," he told his lovers. "I have a series of meetings in Crystal City, then I probably have to check in with the main office, make sure Sharlene is still running it with an iron fist." He flashed them a smile. "A week, maximum, and then I can be back in Paris."

"I'm sure we'll figure out something to keep us occupied for the week," Ariadne teased. She gave him a lingering kiss. "I should be able to finish off my design and see if it gets final approval, anyway. It'll be less distracting with you here."

Eames snorted. "Somehow I doubt she'll come up for air," he teased. "You take care, Arthur. Let us know if there are any delays."

"Of course."

Christopher didn't say anything when Eames and Arthur left for the airport. When Ariadne made him set the table for lunch, he looked at her with a shrewd expression. "You're cheating on Arthur with Eames, aren't you?"

She looked at him with a startled expression. "What?"

"You kiss Arthur all the time, but I've seen you kiss Eames, too. You don't think I notice, but I do." Christopher wasn't giving her a particularly hostile look, but he was waiting for her reaction.

"Of course I kiss them both," Ariadne replied calmly, brows knit a little in thought. "I'm not cheating on Arthur, though. He's well aware of what's been going on here." She thought it wise to wait before telling Christopher that Arthur and Eames have kissed each other, too. Or perhaps it was cowardice. "The three of us are together, Christopher. We all love each other."

He stared at her for a long time, as if judging her. Having been stared down by far scarier people, she stared back at him. "You're telling me the truth."

"Yes, I am."

Christopher merely stared at her for another moment. "Why?"

"Why what? Why tell you the truth? There's no point in lying about the three of us being together. You live here and you're not blind."

"No, I mean, why can the three of you be together like that? There are people that pair up and can't stay together."

Ariadne gestured that he should finish setting the table. She had made enough for three, as Eames should return from dropping off Arthur soon. "It's more complicated, sure," she began slowly. It was hard enough a concept to be part of, let alone explain to a child. "Arthur and I were together first, and Eames needed us. It grew from there."

"I haven't seen them kiss," Christopher told her, an almost accusing note in his voice.

"They're both private people," Ariadne replied with a shrug. She watched as he grudgingly started to lay out the silverware. "And besides, taking care of you has been more important."

"I see you kiss them all the time."

"Because that's just the way I am," she replied, shrugging again. "Everyone's different. What works for them is different."

"So it's my fault they don't kiss?" he asked, frowning at her.

"No, they still do. Just not in front of you."

Now Christopher was all but glowering at her. "Why?"

"It's not as common for an arrangement like ours to exist, and you've been having a hard enough time getting used to us." Ariadne gave him a level look. "Can you tell me you wouldn't have made some kind of comment to try to get back at us using that? Like you asking me if I'm cheating on Arthur?"

"When people cheat, they leave," Christopher retorted hotly. Then he looked stricken, as if he hadn't meant to say that.

Ariadne pulled aside a chair and sat down in front of Christopher. "I don't know what happened before, but we're not breaking up. No one's going to leave you." She chanced a hand on his arm, and he didn't shake her off or hit her. Progress.

They seemed to be pinned in place until the door opened, signaling Eames' return. Ariadne didn't move, but Christopher flinched. "This is your home if you want it to be," Ariadne told him quietly. "We're doing everything we can to make you feel comfortable here. There might be mistakes along the way, I don't know. But I promise you, we're trying our best."

He didn't say anything when she rose to get lunch ready. He finished setting the table, remaining silent during lunch. Though Eames offered to take him to the park or shopping after lunch, he retreated to his bedroom to work on his online classes. He was quiet and respectful during dinner and sat on the floor during the movie Ariadne selected to watch afterward. She started off on the couch beside Eames, but eventually shifted position so that he could massage her feet, ankles and calves. Their manner was easy going, as if they had done this thousands of times before and Christopher's presence hadn't changed anything.

When he didn't protest bedtime, Eames let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't realized he had been waiting for some kind of outburst, but having Christopher behave properly was almost unnerving. He had thought the boy would become even more disruptive without Arthur there, but he seemed to tolerate it well. Eames looked over at Ariadne's snicker. "What?"

"Maybe he's just settling in," she offered. "Maybe he's feeling like this is really home and not just a pit stop."

Eames continued to knead her calf as they sat through one of the deleted scenes. "I really want that to be true," he murmured.

"Unless he seems to be acting differently," Ariadne began quietly, leaning forward, "we have to assume that's the case." She rested her hand on his arm and squeezed the muscle there. "We're all trying, Eames. Some days it'll work, some days it won't."

"Like when you got me out of Mombasa."

Ariadne moved to cup his face with her hands. "I'm here, Eames," she said, voice soft.

"I don't want this to be a dream, Ariadne," he told her, shifting to pull her closer. "I don't know what I'd do if this isn't real..."

"Sh," she murmured, leaning in and kissing him. "It's real, it's real. I've got you."

"You always have," he murmured. "You know when you're dreaming or not." His dream version of her had never reassured him like this. It was as if he had always known it wasn't real, but had wanted to ignore the signs.

They kissed and fondled each other until the menu screen came back on. "Bed?" he asked, eyebrow lofted at her in invitation.

"Definitely," she replied with an eager grin.

Neither noticed Christopher hiding in the shadows with his cryptography book.

***

Arthur returned with a scarf for Ariadne, a pair of shoes for Eames and a puzzle box for Christopher. "Is this a hint?" Eames teased, looking at the loafers Arthur gave him.

"This is beyond a hint. It's an outright order. Your ratty sneakers are about ready to fall apart. It's time to wear something else."

Eames snickered. "Just for that, I ought to keep the damn things." He laughed harder when Arthur swatted the back of his head playfully and gave him a quick kiss. "Fine, fine, I'll wear the new ones. Seriously, Arthur, it's not like I'm still at the Yard."

"No excuse to dress in a slovenly manner," he replied crisply, leaning forward to pull on Ariadne's scarf. "Follow Ariadne's lead on this one, will you?"

"I'd make a poor hippie," Eames retorted, making Ariadne laugh.

In the meantime, Christopher was frowning at his puzzle box. "What's this for?"

"For all the things you want to keep that you don't want us knowing about," Arthur replied easily, shrugging. It wasn't nearly as large as the photo album the boy was hiding, but large enough for a notebook, letters or a handful of trinkets. "I had one as a kid."

"And? What did you hide?"

Arthur blinked, frozen for a moment. It was startling, how fast it had snuck up on him; he hadn't thought he would still be affected by childhood memories. But Christopher, if he truly admitted it to himself, reminded him a little bit of what he had been like as a boy after his sister had been kidnapped. "I had pictures," he said finally, aware of Christopher staring at him. "Things weren't good for me as a kid," he replied, keeping the sentence deliberately vague. "I needed something like that."

"Did it help?"

"Sometimes knowing you have an outlet is more important than actually using it," Arthur replied, tone as crisp and controlled as usual.

Christopher seemed to ponder his words, and he looked down at the box in his hands. "So how do you use this?"

Arthur picked up the box as Ariadne fished the directions out of the tissue paper wrapping. She read them aloud and Arthur showed him how the box worked. "You can put whatever you want in there," Eames said with an earnest expression.

"Okay. I'll think about it," Christopher told him, tone somewhat more aloof than previously. He looked between the three adults, taking in the shuttered expression on Eames' face. "Why don't you kiss him more? You did that enough with her while he was away."

If he had wanted to see an argument erupt, he was disappointed. Eames just turned to look at Arthur with a half smile on his face. "Do I kiss you enough, Arthur?"

"It doesn't happen all that often, no. But I'm in my office most of the time, so that's explanation enough." He leaned forward and grasped Eames by the shoulder. "But you can certainly try to make it up to me."

"You're treating that like a joke," Christopher said, frowning when they gave each other a quick kiss on the lips.

"What? We're not as demonstrative as Ariadne is," Eames replied, ducking her playful swat on the arm. "See?"

Christopher got up, puzzle box clutched to his chest. "Grownups are confusing," he declared with a disgusted expression. "You three make no sense."

"Hey!" Eames cried, still with a playful tone. The smile on his face faltered slightly at the sight of Christopher's glower. "What is it?"

Instead of answering, Christopher turned on his heel and stalked toward the bedroom.

Arthur pushed Eames out of his chair. "Go talk to him. It's probably because of something related to situations he had been in before. You knew Shelley best..."

With a sigh, Eames got up and followed Christopher. He was sitting on the bed, box clutched to his chest. "Go away," he told Eames, not even looking in the direction of the doorway.

"What's confusing?" Eames asked instead. He stepped inside the room, though he still gave Christopher a wide berth. The boy's last temper tantrum had been a week or two before Arthur left, and Eames had no intention of triggering another one.

"Other people leave if they do what you're doing out there."

Eames gingerly approached and sat down on the bed beside Christopher. His fingers tightened on the box a little, but he otherwise gave no outward sign that he was paying attention to Eames' movements. "Our situation here is different. I'm guessing one of your Mum's boyfriends kissed some other girl?"

"Mum was with Charlie and kissed Hector. When Charlie found out, they had a row and he left. He was supposed to take me to a football match, but he never did."

"How old were you?"

"Five. And Hector was mean. Charlie was nicer, but I never saw him again."

Nodding gently, Eames pondered what to say. "Your Mum's not one for sharing sometimes, and I'm guessing Charlie was like that. Most of the time, people don't like sharing. They only want to kiss one person and have them kiss back. The three of us here, we all kiss each other, we know about it and we're okay sharing between ourselves. But if Arthur or Ariadne decided they wanted to kiss someone else besides one of us, I'd be upset."

"Why?"

"I love them," Eames said simply. "I want them happy, and I want them to be okay. They love me back, so the three of us all live together."

"Ariadne said it's not common, the three of you together."

"No, it's not," Eames agreed.

"So what does that mean? What would happen if someone found out?" he asked, brows furrowed in thought.

"Call us all names, most likely. Think we're bad people, avoid us. People often do that to whoever's different in some way."

"Then why stay if they're going to get called names? I don't get it."

"Because I love them and they love me back. That's more important to us than what some stranger says. Strangers don't matter. They're not there if you're sick or hurt. They don't help you when you need it, or protect you when there's danger." Eames hoped he was explaining it simply enough for Christopher, who still looked troubled.

"So if you love someone, you stay," he finally said.

"If you can. Sometimes things get complicated for grownups. Sometimes you can't stay."

"Like you and Mum."

"Yeah. It got really complicated, and she left me. It was safest for her that way. And for you, even if I didn't know you existed yet."

Christopher's frown deepened even more. "But if she loved you, she would've tried to make it work out. She wouldn't have cared what other people thought about her."

"She definitely didn't care what other people thought about her," Eames said with a soft laugh, shaking his head. Christopher turned and looked at him finally, some of the tension in his face softening. "But she didn't love me, not like that. She liked me, I think. To a certain extent, she trusted me. But she had no intention to ever stay with me, Christopher. It wasn't that kind of a relationship that we had." He risked putting a hand on his shoulder, and was gratified when the boy didn't shake him off. "We were friends, though. And when we could, we helped each other. That's the important part to remember."

"Is that why you're taking care of me now? Helping her until she gets back?"

The hope in his voice was hard to miss, and Eames' heart broke a little. "Yeah. Exactly right. And I like you, Christopher. You're a good kid. I'm glad you're mine."

Christopher stared at him with wide eyes. "You are?"

"Yeah."

"But I hit you before. And Arthur and Ariadne, too."

"Yeah, you did." Eames shrugged. "Sometimes you do awful things to people that you care about, but that means you have to make up for it. You have to apologize and mean it, and really show how sorry you are."

"I have to think about that."

Eames wanted to laugh at his serious tone, but simply nodded at him. "You do that. I'm going to head out with Arthur and Ariadne now. Want a minute here alone?" He stood when Christopher nodded and looked down at the box again. "I'll get you if you're not out in time for dinner."

"Okay."

Eames gave him an awkward pat and then returned to the living room. After assuring Arthur and Ariadne that everything was fine, they started talking about Arthur's business. "And what about you?" Arthur asked after a moment. "You've been awfully quiet about the Network."

"I'm not positive, but there might be a hit."

"Want me to double check it?"

"Nah. You take care of your contract. I'll look into it and get back to you if it's a definite."

Arthur shrugged, unconcerned. It gave Eames something to do so that he felt useful, even if his heart was in it less and less over time. Arthur understood that, since it had never been his _raison d'être._ Ariadne's interest in being the Dream Killer hadn't waned yet, and there occasionally was a ruthlessness about her that even gave Arthur pause. He could accept that he was a sociopath, but he didn't want her traveling down that same road.

They talked about random things until Ariadne got up to start making dinner. She stopped short when she saw Christopher standing there in the hallway. "Oh, Christopher, I almost didn't see you there. Need anything?"

He shook his head slowly. "Mum sometimes let me help her," he said abruptly. "I could do some simple stuff."

"What are you in the mood for?" she asked gently.

Christopher shuffled his feet a little. "Spaghetti. Mum had a special sauce she made."

"Want to show me how to make it?" Ariadne asked, holding out her hand for him to take it if he wanted to. After a moment's hesitation, he did. "We'll make her sauce, and I'll show you something my Mom taught me how to make that should go with it nicely. Sound good?"

"Yeah," he replied solemnly, all large eyes and spare motions. He reminded her of a skittish animal that couldn't tell if it was going to be struck or fed.

Ariadne turned on music in the kitchen as she usually did and they moved about to start making the simple dinner. Eames was almost afraid to hope that the evening would go well, but there were no outbursts and not even subtle signs of disrespect.

Some days, that was more than he could hope to ask for.

***

"So what do you do on there?" Christopher asked, coming into the office Eames and Ariadne shared. Arthur's office door was actually open, and he was conversing in German on the phone, banging away at his computer angrily. Ariadne was out for the day, setting up another consulting job as an architect. Eames supposed that Christopher was bored, and he had few options to interact with others.

"There's a network of people that communicate on a forum. I help monitor that sometimes." Best to not mention that he had apparently turned into a moderator with extreme prejudice.

Christopher didn't seem overly impressed. "That sounds boring."

"Most adult work usually is."

"Arthur gave me cryptography stuff. That isn't."

"I said _most_ things," Eames replied with a smile. "That part most certainly is not. And depending how you use it, that could be very dangerous."

Christopher actually grinned, and for a moment Eames was reminded of Shelley's intense enthusiasm for dream share and wet works. "Cool."

"Indeed," Eames replied, managing to keep the smile on his face from slipping. "Was there something you wanted to do today?"

"Something cool like the cryptography. Nothing boring like forum trolling."

Eames lofted an eyebrow. "You know what trolling is?"

"Sure. Mum had me checking her second Ghost account a lot."

Blood running cold, Eames could only stare at Christopher. "You did?"

"Yep. She liked showing me stuff on the computer, and we played games together a lot. I was Little Bear for my Ghost account," he said proudly. "Well, it was supposed to be hers, but I'm the one that used it most."

"Were there other things you were going to learn from her?" Eames asked, feeling a little more helpless with every passing second.

"She wanted me to learn languages and stuff. I wanted to learn lock picking and pick pocketing." He grinned at the look of horror on Eames' face that he couldn't quite hide. "Yeah, Eden had the same look on her face when I told her." Christopher froze after a moment. "Do I need to apologize to her?"

"I think she'd like it if you did," Eames said carefully. "I can talk to her first if you like."

"They hate me," Christopher said abruptly. His brows knit in a thunderous look that reminded Eames of his own. "Sometimes I think you do, too."

"No!" Eames cried, pulling the boy close. "Don't ever think that."

"Why should you like me? I was mean to you. And you're only waiting until Mum comes back to get me." The boy thrust his chin out defiantly. "I can survive on my own if you throw me out. I don't need any grownups."

Eames understood the boast for what it was – a need to be reassured. He had felt that way often enough himself after Mombasa. He pulled Christopher into a tight hug. "Well, maybe you don't want me," he began, giving Christopher an opportunity to save face, "but _I_ want _you_ around. So no more talk of leaving, okay?"

"Okay," Christopher replied, sounding almost put upon. But he returned Eames' hug just as tightly, and he actually seemed reluctant to let go. "If I have to."

Eames couldn't help but smile at him. "And if I say you have to?"

"Fine, then," he answered, rolling his eyes as he pulled back slightly. "So are we going to do something fun or what?"

Feeling like the most terrible parent in the world, Eames made a snap decision. "I think I have my old lock pick set around somewhere."

The way Christopher's eyes lit up was worth it.

***

"Do I want to know why you're buying ten different models of deadbolts and installing them on an unattached door?" Arthur asked archly, standing in the doorway to the living room. Eames was working on the sixth of ten locks, and Christopher was gleefully looking on and holding the cordless power drill.

Eames looked up almost guiltily. "Father-son bonding?"

Arthur nodded sagely. "Oh. Carry on, then. Let me know if you want to go over algorithms for breaking into coded locks and the supposedly unpickable ones."

Christopher's eyes lit up. "You guys are _so cool."_

"You should see Ariadne with her old lock pick gun," Eames told Christopher with a smile.

"I think she likes the tools better. More finesse," Arthur told them.

Christopher's eyes were round with delight. "There are _lock pick guns?"_

"Oh, sure. I think she had a LockAid by Majestic when she worked for the FBI. We'll ask her when she gets back from grocery shopping. If you help her unload, it'll go faster."

"Wait, she worked for the FBI?" the boy asked, looking between the two men. "Wow. You weren't kidding about everyone having secrets."

"Do I look like the sort to joke about that?" Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

Pausing, Christopher considered him. "No, you don't. Him, maybe," Christopher said, pointing at Eames, "but not about that and not about her. Or you." Christopher frowned slightly. "And I don't think you'd lie about me," he said, turning to face Eames.

"Not at all," Eames replied, wondering where the boy was going with his train of thought.

"But Mum did. A lot."

"Probably to protect you," Arthur offered when Eames couldn't speak.

"I suppose," Christopher said, starting to swing the power drill about. "Can you put in the next lock? I want to try picking them."

"I'll leave you two to your work," Arthur said as Eames nodded. "Call me if you want any help with that. You've got a few difficult deadbolts in there."

"Rather the point, Arthur," Eames said, smiling at him as if grateful for the change in topic.

Arthur gave him a supportive smile in return and headed to his office to resume negotiations on a private contract. He left his door open, liking the background noise of their chatter and tinkering in the living room. He never would have thought he would like that, but living with others in the past few years was much more satisfying than living alone.

***

Christopher stood in the hallway outside of the bedroom the adults shared, clutching the puzzle box to his chest. He wore his pajamas, his bare feet cold on the floor. It was dark, but he could see well enough to walk through the hallway. He had a hand poised to knock on the door, but he didn't know what he was going to find. He didn't know if he should have even come to them, as much as they said he could. His heart still beat triple time in his chest, and he could hear the echoes of the nightmare in his ears. It was stupid, he shouldn't have been as afraid as he was, but he just couldn't shake it alone.

Rather than knocking, Christopher turned the knob and entered the bedroom. The three adults were sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled in sleep. Arthur was on the side closest to the door, Ariadne was in the middle and Eames was farthest away from the door. He had one arm slung over the side of the bed, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed heavily. It wasn't quite a snore; that came from Ariadne intermittently. Their floor was carpeted, and Christopher curled his toes into the pile as he walked.

Eames came awake immediately as soon as Christopher touched his outstretched arms, panic unmistakable in his eyes. He looked around the room, taking in everything instantly. As much as it should have felt alarming, it was comforting. He was alert for danger the same way Shelley used to be, and Christopher suddenly wanted to cry. It ached _so badly_ that she wasn't there, that he was living with these people instead of her. But they were trying to be a family for his sake and weren't crying at the drop of a pin the same way Eden used to. It was worse for her, Christopher supposed, since she had actually known Shelley. Eames had, but Ariadne and Arthur hadn't, so they didn't miss her as much.

Christopher still refused to think she was dead, though she loved the holidays and was now about to miss a third Christmas with him.

"What is it?" Eames asked, voice rough with sleep. His eyes were wide, looking for what might have been dangerous.

"I had a nightmare," Christopher whispered, blinking fiercely to keep from crying. He clutched the puzzle box to his chest even tighter, but that didn't help ward off the faint screams he wanted to make. "I had a nightmare," he repeated, voice breaking.

Eames didn't even think as he sat up and pulled Christopher close. The boy struggled a bit at first, then awkwardly molded himself to Eames' warm chest. "When I was a young boy," Eames said softly, careful not to wake Ariadne or Arthur, "my Mum made me hot chocolate and sat up with me for a spell. Then she packed me back to bed so she could sleep a little more before her shift at work. I don't work anywhere and you don't have to be at a school building, though. I can stay up with you as long as you like."

Christopher made a snuffling sound and then pulled back to look up at Eames' earnest face. "Yeah. Hot chocolate sounds good."

They were still awake and watching cartoons when the others woke, the puzzle box open on the coffee table. He had kept fragments of code and pictures that had fallen out of his photo album. Christopher didn't make any motion to close up the box as the others approached.

"Pancakes?" Ariadne offered.

"With extra syrup and lots of blueberries in it," Christopher demanded, sounding more like his usual self.

She merely lofted an eyebrow at him. "Then you'd better come help me in the kitchen, huh? Bring the mugs in if you're done with them and stick them in the sink while I get the batter going," she said, smothering a yawn. "Need extra coffee, Eames?"

He leaned his head over the back of the couch and grinned. "That's thoughtful. Yes, lots. A whole pot to myself, perhaps."

Ariadne snickered. "And you make fun of _my_ caffeine intake..."

Arthur frowned slightly as he entered the room. "Did I miss something?" he asked. Christopher was sailing right past him to help Ariadne in the kitchen, two dirty mugs in hand.

"Nah," the boy said diffidently, not stopping.

"Early riser," Eames said with a shrug. "I took care of it."

"I see that." Arthur walked over to the couch and leaned down to give Eames a soft kiss on the lips. "Doing okay?" he asked quietly, just soft enough that Christopher wouldn't hear it over the sounds in the kitchen.

"Yeah. We're good," Eames replied, lips curved into a smile conveying his awe. "He actually came to me for help."

Arthur grinned at him and stood. "Then we definitely have progress." He moved to grab the remote. "Now let me see what the stock market is doing..."

***  
***


	6. Time To Wake Up

Eames sat at his computer, looking at the screen numbly as he tried to ignore the chill rolling down his spine. It could still be nothing, but the vague potential hit on the Ghost Network that he had mentioned to Arthur could very well be something after all. Anton Andreyev was mentioned by name as a staff member of a clinic in Berlin that people on the network didn't feel comfortable dealing with. He had no specific crimes that any of them were aware of, and certainly not in a climate where accusations of wrongdoing still led to death. Forum members were all too aware that false accusations were easy to make and death was final. No one wanted to cross the invisible lines that had been erected when it was apparent the Dream Killer was policing the worst of the possible offenses in somnacin clinics and underground dream share.

But Eames knew where else to look for information and had different aliases to do so. There was no way he would put any of his old friends or contacts in dangerous situations just to help him, so it was definitely of benefit that he had a few aliases unknown to MI6 and Scotland Yard. Those were safe enough to use, and he did so very judiciously.

Truthfully, he hadn't expected any information to come back. Whispers about creepy patrons or staff members rarely panned out into anything more. However, he did his due diligence and now had finally gotten something back.

Anton Andreyev was not the man's actual name. It was only his most current persona, one that had a clean record and wasn't coming up on watch lists held by Interpol or any government agencies. The name most agencies knew was Mikhail Gusarov, best known for his role in somnacin trafficking, human trafficking, murder and possibly espionage. Eames had managed to contact a man that held a grudge for Gusarov and was willing to link the two names together. He hadn't wanted to trust the information too readily – deadly grudges existed, after all, and Eames had to vet the possibility for himself. It was starting to look fairly undeniable that the two men were one and the same. By the Dream Killer rules, however, there was nothing to link Gusarov to abuses in the clinics. He would still be free to continue his activities.

Feeling sick, Eames collated his information into one file folder for Arthur's perusal. He couldn't make that call, not if he followed Dream Killer rules. If he broke more than body placement, it would be more than just tweaking the collective noses of authority figures. It could become the launching point for a copycat killer search, theories that the Dream Killer was expanding his scope of practice or that Gusarov was involved in much more than anyone could ever have imagined. While Gusarov likely wouldn't care if he was accused of abusing helpless dream clients, Eames didn't like adding faulty charges onto suspects. It was part of the reason why he never really rose all that high in intelligence agencies. He wasn't willing to bend certain rules and he certainly didn't want to work with anyone that would.

Working with Arthur and Ariadne already disturbed him enough. He didn't think he could handle any more deviations from the fragile norm that had been set up.

Arthur was still working on a personal contract, his German flawless and almost guttural in his irritation. He noted Eames' tired expression as he sank into a chair opposite Arthur's desk and raised an eyebrow. Eames made a dismissive wave, indicating that he could conclude his business and the file folder in his hands could wait. That was the general signal that there was something brewing in Eames' mind, however, and Arthur frowned.

Concluding his business, Arthur reached for the folder. "What is it?"

"This is the possible hit I had the other day."

As Arthur perused the file, Eames wished that Ariadne was in the townhouse to serve as a buffer between them. He was feeling uncertain, and truth be told it was because of Christopher. How in the world were they supposed to continue the Dream Killer work while still taking care of a child? That was downright irresponsible of them. Shelley had worked while still caring for him, and it was only because of her contingency plans that he wasn't in care. It wouldn't be fair for him to lose the only other biological parent that he had, however tenuous their relationship currently was.

"What's the problem?" Arthur asked, brows furrowed as he read. "I'd have to check out the clinic itself, of course. If he's still involved in trafficking, we'd have to see if he's doing it with the sleepers. You've heard of somnacin prostitution, right?"

Eames wanted to throw up at the thought, but he merely nodded. "There's nothing clear in the network or any of the information that I found."

Arthur gave him a look that clearly indicated he was being willfully dim. "Yes. That's why we'll need to investigate in person."

"No," Eames said, startling them both with his vehemence. "I can't go with you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't go with you," Eames repeated. As he said the words, he realized they were true. This was what he had been leaning toward for some time. Even killing Amelia, which had clearly fallen under Dream Killer rules, had left him feeling hollow. "I can't do this anymore."

Arthur merely frowned at his distress. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Eames parroted incredulously. "This business kills people, Arthur! You can't just pretend that it doesn't! That fucking thing is dangerous!" he all but shouted, gesturing toward the closet where the PASIV was stored. "Look at what it's done to us, Arthur! It's destroyed our lives, ruined everything we could have been. You can't say this is safe anymore. It nearly killed me and it sure as fuck killed Shelley." He ran his hands through his hair in an agitated manner and only belatedly realized that Arthur had his eyes fixed on the door behind Eames instead on his face.

Christopher was standing in the doorway, eyes large and face pale. "You really think she's dead?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"For your sake," Eames began slowly, "I'd hoped she wasn't. But she would have come back to you if she could. Someone would have heard something. Not me, we weren't that close, but Eden or Geordie. Or someone else she trusted that I don't know about." He sighed when Christopher didn't move. "But no one heard anything from her, and as far as I know, the only ones to leave Mombasa alive were myself and Eden."

"What is it? That dangerous thing?"

Arthur fixed Eames with a silent stare, and Eames gave him a nod. He fetched the PASIV under Christopher's watchful eyes and Eames tired gaze. "This is a PASIV," Arthur said as he opened up the silver case, voice brisk and matter of fact. "It's for—"

"Shared dreaming," Christopher interrupted. "Mum had one. She never let me use it."

"Smart woman," Arthur replied, nodding. "You shouldn't use it if you don't have to. There are a lot of risks involved with children."

"So is that how you think she died?" Christopher asked Eames, who was watching the exchange with a pained expression. "This thing killed her?"

"That can be used to take secrets from peoples' minds. That was the sort of business she was involved in sometimes," Eames said heavily, wishing he could be anywhere but there. He didn't want to deal with this, didn't want to have to admit his own involvement with dream share and with the Dream Killer business. He wanted to bury his head in the sand and not think, not feel, not have to deal with any consequences.

But he had been doing that for nearly two years. It was more than time to wake up.

"So she was killed because of secrets she stole."

"Possibly. Maybe. There were secrets that people thought I had," Eames told the boy, rubbing at his face tiredly. "They almost killed me for them, and she was trying to help me. I never saw what happened to her."

"So she might not be dead. You don't _know."_ Christopher was insistent, eyes still shining with the hope that children always had, that certain belief that wishing made it true.

"There were a lot of guns and a lot of bodies. A lot of horrible things, Christopher. I don't think she made it. I think they killed her."

"Then where are _they?"_ he asked, face taking on a fiercely angry look that looked like a combination of Shelley's features and his expression.

"Dead," Arthur said with finality in his voice. He shut the PASIV case and returned it to the closet shelf. "They're all dead, we saw to that. Even their colleagues in other terrorist cells are all dead. No one survived what we did."

"Good."

This was his child, Eames realized. Bloodthirsty and eager to inflict harm on those he felt wronged him.

"So now what?" Christopher asked. There was anger in his voice, as if he was demanding Eames to do something now that he had declared Shelley dead. "What are you going to do now? You can't just sit there and do nothing."

"We're not," Arthur said smoothly. He gestured to the folder. "Eames looks for people that use that device to do harm to others."

Eames was shaking his head at Arthur incredulously. "Don't you dare bring him into this..."

Arthur shot him a sharp, angry glare, and Eames immediately shut his mouth. That was truly a disingenuous statement; Eames knew better than anyone but Ariadne how Arthur felt about children being involved with dream share or dream clinics. "Perhaps you want to rethink what you were about to say."

That cold tone sent shivers down Eames' spine. It was more like the taunting voice he had used when he revealed himself as the Dream Killer, when Eames still entertained the idea of bringing him in to justice for multiple counts of murder. Eames and Ariadne were just as guilty as he was by now, and not just by association. He couldn't turn in Arthur and if he was honest with himself, he really didn't want to.

"I'd rather if he didn't even know it existed," Eames tried again. Arthur's jaw loosened a fraction, and Eames could only hope he was explaining his tangled thoughts properly. "I don't want him even tempted to assist. We've been teaching him things he shouldn't know at his age, and I don't want this to be one of them."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Christopher cried, indignant.

"No!" both men told him, Eames nearly shouting it.

Christopher shrank back slightly, but didn't run. "Why not?"

"This is _dangerous."_ Eames shook his head, not sure what else he could say to possibly warn him away. He was panicking, reacting out of fear and anger and desperation, and he couldn't think logically anymore. Normally he was clever enough to bounce back, but around Christopher all he had was the instinct to protect. No one else could do it anymore, and others have tried. Eden and Geordie, for all their emotional attachment to the boy and their debts to Shelley, hadn't been able to do it. Christopher didn't have anyone else, and Eames couldn't fail him. He didn't have the luxury of failure anymore.

"People die because of what others can do with that machine. It's a tool, like every other tool in the world, and sometimes it's misused," Arthur said, his voice deceptively calm. Eames was sure he was still angry at his thoughtless words. "You don't know its proper use, let alone how it can be misused, and this is not something any of us in this household will teach you. You're far too young to be involved."

Christopher jutted his chin outward stubbornly. "You're always telling me I'm smart enough to do anything. I can do this. I can figure it out on my own."

"This involves chemicals," Arthur told him flatly. "They're not configured for a child's height and weight. It could literally kill you the moment you try it."

Now Christopher paused. Neither man looked as though they were joking or scaring him needlessly. If anything, Eames still looked terrified at the thought of him near it. As much as Christopher wanted to discount this, he could tell they were serious. "Oh."

"Yes, oh," Arthur replied. "There is a reason for our caution, however misguided it might seem to you and however awkwardly Eames was trying to discuss it."

Eames flinched, but couldn't take back his initial gut reaction. He had to protect Christopher from the fallout of this, whatever it took. If he lost his supports, however much he needed them, so be it. Christopher had to come first.

"I'm going to go play a video game," Christopher declared.

"That's a good idea," Eames said a little weakly, glad that he wanted to do something normal.

"Why don't you go with him?" Arthur asked, voice without inflection. Eames still wanted to wince and ask forgiveness, but wouldn't do that in front of Christopher. "I'll take care of this information you gave me," he continued when Eames didn't move. "I'll have Ariadne's help if I need it. You'll stay here, of course."

Eames merely stared at Arthur, frozen in place. "Arthur..."

"You don't seriously think I would have done anything even potentially harmful, did you?" he asked, a measure of scorn in his voice.

If anything, that made Eames feel even smaller than he already did. "I wasn't thinking."

"No, you weren't." Arthur spared a glance at Christopher, who was still hovering in the doorway, wondering what was going on between the two men. "I understand why, but you need to think, Eames. You're not so far out of the game that you've stopped." He strode over to Eames' side and pulled him up out of the chair. "Now go spend time with your son."

That was an easy enough order to follow.

***

"Why are you so afraid of that thing in there?" Christopher asked as they were heading out of the townhouse. He had wanted to be out of the house, but neither had any idea of where they wanted to go. "The chemicals in it?"

Eames wanted to pretend that he had never heard of a PASIV device, never gotten involved in dream share, never met any of the shady characters he had interacted with over the years. For that matter, as long as he was wishing for things, he might as well wish his father never died, his mother hadn't worked such long hours or that he wasn't an only child. He might as well wish that Arthur and Ariadne had never been kidnapped and abused, or that the PASIV had never been corrupted from its original purpose.

But it was useless to make those kinds of wishes, useless to keep dreaming of a reality that didn't exist and never would.

"The chemicals interact with your mind," Eames said quietly, resting his hand on the top of his head. Suddenly Christopher seemed so small, so fragile. It was hard to see the desperation that had led him to seize a knife to threaten Eden and Geordie, or to remember the bruises that had riddled his own body when he tried to physically contain the tantrums. "People can go into your thoughts and dreams, can literally change your mind. Sometimes it's merely opened. Sometimes you're changed from the inside out. Sometimes people go in and steal secrets, or lock them away, or hurt others in unspeakable ways."

"And my mother did this."

There was such a final, dead note in Christopher's voice, as if he didn't want to hear the truth that he so desperately craved.

"She wasn't the only one," Eames murmured.

They stopped walking and weren't too far away from the townhouse. "I forgot something," Christopher said abruptly. "Lemme go get it."

It didn't take long for Christopher to return with a small notebook. It had usually been kept in his puzzle box, and Eames had never tried to open it or see what was inside. Christopher gave him the notebook without any explanation.

 _If ever you think I'm dead,_ Shelley had written in the book, _Give this to whoever is taking care of you. If they can be trusted with knowing who you are to me, they can be trusted with the codes in this book. These caches are to help care for you and keep you safe._

Eames looked at Christopher, eyes wide with concern. "Christopher..."

"She updates it whenever she goes away on the bad missions. That's what I call them. She doesn't always give me that. But if she does, I know it's a bad one and she might not come back. She's supposed to, but said sometimes people don't."

"I'm sorry," Eames murmured, closing the book and putting it into his pocket. He didn't know why he was apologizing exactly. It wasn't his fault that Shelley died, just as it wasn't his fault he had fallen in with the Dream Killer. Sometimes things just happened that weren't anyone's fault.

"When I look at that," Christopher said suddenly, "I hate her. And I don't want to hate her."

Eames pulled Christopher against him into a tight hug. He started to cry, and Eames glared at any passerby that even looked as though they wanted to ask the boy what was wrong. "It's all right if you get mad at her for stuff she does," Eames murmured. "You can hate what she does and still love her. She's still your Mum. She'll always be your Mum."

"I miss her so much," Christopher sobbed, clutching at his shoulders like the frightened child that he was. Now he was grieving, for the first time in two years.

Eames hung onto him tightly and let him.

***

Pastries at an outdoor café seemed to help brighten Christopher's spirit a bit. It occurred to Eames that if Christopher wasn't around, he would be preparing to help observe and possibly kill Gusarov. He wouldn't think twice about that death, and would simply do it if Arthur gave the order. Did that make him as soulless a killer? Eames had killed plenty of other people in the line of duty and in the name of honor.

Taking care of a child was different. It was hard to do it right, and even then he couldn't be sure he wasn't fucking something up.

Almost as if he knew Eames was thinking of him, Christopher looked up. "What?"

"Just thinking."

"About?"

 _You. What to do with you. What to do with_ me, he thought, but he couldn't say such a thing out loud. Instead, Eames took a bite of his own pastry. "Do you like France?" he asked quietly. "It's different from London. Or even Scotland."

"You're thinking of moving?"

"Not sure what I'm thinking, precisely. But you need to be somewhere comfortable. Somewhere you feel safe."

Christopher cocked his head to the side and looked at him with an assessing glance. It was his own expression, Eames realized suddenly. He often looked at people the same way. "You're trying to keep me safe, aren't you?"

"Every moment of every day."

"Then where you feel safe is where I'll live. And you've already said it's with Arthur and Ariadne. So I guess I have to stay with them, too."

Eames could hear the unspoken question behind the words. As much as Eames had already said he wouldn't abandon the boy, he knew it was a question that would constantly bear repeating, and one he would constantly have to answer. "They're good people. They try really hard, at least," he amended. "They do whatever they can."

And it was true, he realized suddenly. As much as Eames could beat himself up over the Dream Killer business and how morally corrupt they sometimes seemed to be, the three of them did fit together well. He felt out of sorts because he didn't need the killing anymore, but he still needed _them._ When trapped in the dream in Mombasa, he had fallen in love with his idea of them. He had known on some level that he needed them to feel whole. It hadn't been the killing aspect of it at all, but simply belonging with them and feeling that sense of family. He wanted to be in their life, a part of who they were. He might not have something to replace the Dream Killer involvement, but he still needed Arthur and Ariadne.

Christopher was contemplating Eames' words carefully. "They do really dangerous things, don't they? That's why they know about that silver cased machine and how to pick locks and cryptography and things like that. I mean, it's cool. I like that they know it all. Most parents don't know about cool stuff like that."

"We've all been involved," Eames hedged. "But I'm out of it now. I've decided that I'm not going to be a part of the things that they've been doing. That's what the argument was, really. I didn't quite have the balls to say anything before, but I don't want to be involved in all of that anymore. I don't need it like I used to."

"Because of me?"

"Eh, you're part of it, but it wasn't because of you. You're just another reason to stay safe."

Frowning, Christopher contemplated what he said and the implication behind the words. "So they're doing unsafe things. They're using that machine to do dangerous things."

"It could be, yes," Eames agreed quietly.

"They could be hurt, then. Even die."

"Yes, it's a possibility."

Christopher looked incredibly angry all of a sudden, hands balled into tight fists. "So why don't you stop them?" he demanded.

"They know the risks involved, and they're skilled enough to stay as safe as possible. They're trained. I trust them to come back to me. To us."

His chin was still thrust out in a belligerent way, but his tone of voice was softer. "You could stop them, couldn't you?"

"They stop the ones that hurt people with that device," Eames said quietly. "There are people out there that skirt the law or ignore it altogether. Innocent people out there are getting harmed, and there are no ways to protect them. Arthur and Ariadne try to put an end to it." That was the understatement of the year, but Eames wasn't about to explain how ripping apart a perpetrator's mind and body was the way the Dream Killer worked. "I don't want to stop them, but I can't help them anymore. I just want them safe."

"This isn't normal, is it?" Christopher asked quietly. His anger was all deflated now, and he looked at Eames in concern. He didn't seem afraid of what he was hearing or the fact that there were predators loose in the world. It was too abstract a concept for him, but he could understand that there was danger. He knew this was serious, and he was being treated in a more adult way than he had been in the past two years. On some level, he knew he couldn't act like a spoiled brat or talks like this would end.

"No, it isn't."

"And we're not normal people, are we?"

"No, we're not," Eames agreed quietly. "You could be, if you wanted to be. Live a quiet life somewhere, go to a regular school, no secrets in the shadows, so risk of getting hurt ever again. That's a normal life."

"Like Eden and Geordie's place."

"Well, their place is closer to it than ours."

Christopher polished off his pastry in silence, thinking. "I don't want that," he decided finally. "I want to know about the things out there I shouldn't. I want to know about those secrets and how to pick locks and break into places and be a hundred different people. Mum knew that, and she did okay by me. She didn't treat me like a baby like Eden and Geordie did. There's no point in pretending bad things don't exist. They do, and terrible things happen. I'd rather know it so I can protect myself against it. I want to know about all that stuff."

Eames gave him a thin smile. "I did that once for England, and Ariadne did that for the United States. Arthur still does that, but for himself."

"Then I want to work for him. Not point in picking just one place to work for."

"You are very much your mother's son," Eames said, giving him a fond smile. "She hated rules, too. She'd much rather make her own if she could."

"But some you have to follow."

"Just so," Eames agreed. "I think we can be reasonable about that, yeah?"

"Yeah, I think so," Christopher said, nodding. "I could live here," he added after a moment, looking around the city. "Pastries are good and the people aren't so dumb."

Eames merely laughed, agreeing with him. This was home for him now, not London. This was where he belonged.

***  
***


	7. A New Equilibrium

Ariadne closed the door to Arthur's office and locked it behind her. He looked up at her, eyebrow raised in inquiry. "Eames?"

"Out with Christopher," she said with a diffident shrug. "They didn't want me tagging along. Something about it not being a girly outing. I doubt Christopher meant a strip club, so I'm not too worried about them."

"And now you're here with me," Arthur said quietly, pushing his chair back and away from his desk as she crossed the room. "Did you mean to be alone with me?"

"Chris tattled on Eames," she said, sitting on his lap and winding her hands into his hair. "He doesn't want to do the things that we do, but won't stop us. Chris doesn't know what Eames meant, of course. He was so embarrassed, getting told on like a child."

"He shouldn't have worried."

"No, he shouldn't have. But I think the whole thing with a kid has gotten him feeling more and more unsettled." Ariadne stroked the back of Arthur's head. "He's starting to settle into the idea of being a father, I think."

"I'd never ask him to help if he was unwilling."

"I know that and you know that. I think Eames is still afraid that we'd kick him out if he didn't have something useful to contribute. He needs to be needed, and he needs a purpose. He always was worried that he would drag us down somehow." She pulled his head straight when he turned aside and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's important to him, you know. The work we used to do, the criminals we used to catch. This new work makes up for it for me, but it's not enough for him," Ariadne told Arthur firmly. She leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose to soften her words. "We need to give him something else. He can't follow us down anymore. He's gone as far as he is capable of going."

Arthur sighed, not wanting to agree with her. But it was true, and had been looking that way for some time. "But you're still with me."

"Until the end," she agreed, moving to kiss his mouth. "Until we don't have to do this anymore, when they're all safe."

He lifted his hands and traced her back through her shirt. He thought of how angry she had been about being kidnapped, about how fiercely she had denied the necessity of his work. Arthur never would have guessed that this would be his future, that simply dreaming together and showing her why it was so necessary would be enough to change her mind. It wasn't inception, he was sure of that. Mostly sure. Maybe.

Arthur didn't change who she was. That was definitely not in question.

"You're thinking of something," she said against his mouth, feeling a change in his response to her advance.

"Always," he hedged.

Ariadne laughed. "Well, stop it. The only thing you should be thinking right now is what I'm going to do to you."

Perking up, Arthur gave her a slow smile. "Oh? What naughty things do you have in mind for me, then?"

She deftly unbuckled his pants and had him help her take them off. "We have to take advantage of any alone time we have."

"I like the way you think."

"I thought you might," Ariadne told him smugly, just before she took him into her mouth. He could feel her smiling around his cock as he sucked in a quick breath. Oh, yes, it had been far too long since they had last done this. It had been even longer since the three of them had been in bed together for more than just sleep. Children changed things, and it altered the face of privacy in their own home.

Arthur let the sensation of warm and wet and suction push away those concerns. He let his eyes slide closed and he lightly touched the back of her head as she licked and sucked at his cock. He let out an undignified squawk of protest when she stopped, laughing at him. "Ariadne!"

She slithered out of her clothes and brought his hands to her waist. "What? You didn't think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?"

Chuckling, he stroked her skin. "I figured you were looking for a little more than just getting me off." He brushed his fingers along the curls between her legs. "If I came first, I'd be able to pay more attention to you."

"Nice try, Arthur," she laughed, running her hands along his shoulders. "I'd rather have you inside me as I fuck you in your chair." She leaned in, breasts hovering in front of his face so that he could lick and nuzzle them. He obliged, and she made a happy hum of pleasure. "I think you like that idea."

"Any idea that involves you, nakedness and coming is a good one."

Laughing, she shifted position so that she could kiss him. Their tongues tangled with each other and they lazily touched and stroked each other. Arthur moved his hand to the juncture of her thighs and started stroking her, working on getting her wet enough to sink down over him. She occasionally stroked his cock to keep it erect enough until she could impale herself on it. "Mmm. God, you feel so good."

"No condom?" he asked, breath caught in his chest. She was so tight and wet and it was fantastic to feel her this way rather than through latex, but it wasn't something they'd discussed before.

"I rushed in here as soon as they left," Ariadne admitted, starting to move above him. "Warn me and I'll move." She gave him a naughty grin. "Then you can play porn star and come all over my stomach or breasts."

Arthur laughed. "Messy."

"Not if I make you lick it all off."

He laughed even harder, and Ariadne joined in. "Kinky." He grasped her by the back of her head and pulled her down for a kiss. He missed this, the joking and the silly banter and simply being together with no concrete plan in mind.

"You love my dirty mind," she teased, swiveling her hips above him.

Tightening his hold on her, Arthur kissed her again. "Absolutely. C'mon, Ariadne. Fuck me hard and fast. We don't know how much time we have."

She moved fast above him, rocking her hips hard and clenching down tight. Arthur slipped a hand between their bodies to slide his fingers along her clit. There would be no way that he could outlast her at this rate, and especially not if he had to let her know when to climb off of him. "Jesus, I missed this," he gasped, rubbing at her just the way she liked. Ariadne made a keening noise of pleasure, snapping her hips against him. "Fuck, move, Ariadne, I can't..."

Disappointed, Ariadne shifted and clambered off of his lap. Arthur pulled her closer by her hip so that he could still stroke her clit. He reached up with his other hand to stroke a breast and she closed her hand over his slippery cock to give a few quick pulls. It was enough to bring him over the edge and he spurted in her hand.

"Not quite what I had in mind," Ariadne pouted.

"Shower sex?" he offered, curling his fingers inside of her. He moved them back and forth, thumb pushing at her clit until she tightened painfully. "Or more of this?"

"Both?" she gasped, grasping the back of his chair for balance. "Stock up for later?"

He moved his hand faster until she came, making undignified sounds of mindless pleasure. "Yeah. Let's go do that."

They were at the door to his office when they heard Christopher's voice. It was muffled by the doorway, but it sounded like he was calling back toward Eames, saying he had forgotten his camera. Ariadne sighed and rested her head against the still-locked door. Arthur muffled a laugh against the top of her head. "Just wait," he murmured. Sure enough, in another few moments there was the sound of his running feet, then a slam that had to be the front door.

They raced to their bedroom and locked themselves inside the bathroom with a few condoms, just in case Christopher forgot something else.

***

"Do I want to know how you two amused yourselves while we were out?" Eames asked Ariadne as he set the dinner table. Arthur was battling Christopher in one of his video games, leaving them alone in the kitchen and dining area.

Ariadne snickered. "We used the alone time well," she teased. She reached over and caressed his rear, squeezing him playfully. "You and I are overdue, you know. It's harder with a kid around, but we need to have something there, too." She leaned into him and pressed her lips to his forearm, then looked up at him with a tender smile. "Parenthood still needs to be balanced with your other relationships and responsibilities."

"Is this about the—"

"We don't care if you go with us or not, you know. We never have. We told you from the very beginning, we would never force you to participate in anything you don't want to. It is and always will be your choice. That's not what the three of us are about. If it's not something you want to do anymore, then you stop."

Eames sighed. "Ariadne..."

She turned him to better face her and slid her hands beneath his shirt so that she could touch him skin to skin. "You have other priorities now. Do you believe we'd think any less of you because of that? We promised we would always be here for you, and you promised you'd be here for us. That doesn't mean you have to do everything we do, or that we have to do everything that you do. Relationships don't work that way even when there are only two people involved." Ariadne stroked him rhythmically as she spoke, then lifted his shirt to kiss his stomach. She looked up with a mischievous grin, then bent her head down to blow a raspberry there.

Laughing, Eames caught her in his arms and then swung her about in a circle. "You little minx," he said, lifting her up in his arms. He kissed her soundly, liking the feel of her arms coming down around his shoulders. "You've made your point."

"Have I? Are you certain? I'm sure I can kiss other parts of you, just in case I haven't."

"You can kiss other parts of me anyway."

"You do enjoy that," Ariadne purred. She kissed his nose, his cheeks and then his mouth. "I like making you make those noises, too." Another kiss against his mouth and then she tapped his arm to be let down. "Maybe tonight? We can ask Arthur to take Christopher to a movie."

Eames gave her an amused look. "Someone's horny."

"You're saying you're not?" she teased, heading back into the kitchen.

"I didn't say that," he laughed. "I'm a guy. I'm always ready."

The lighthearted mood continued through dinner, with Christopher gleefully recounting how he was able to camp within the game and pick off Arthur repeatedly. Arthur let him, smiling benignly the entire time. "Maybe Arthur can treat you to a movie?" Eames offered. "As a reward for doing so well?"

"Sounds good," Ariadne said, looking over at Arthur. He shrugged and nodded. "What do you think?" she asked Christopher. The boy looked at them all suspiciously, but nodded as well. "That's good. We should all get a chance to spend some quality time together, you know?"

Arthur snorted a little but wound up covering it in a cough. "Yeah. I get it. We'll look up movie times after dinner," Arthur told Christopher. "Just you and me, okay? We'll leave those two home alone," he added, waving in Eames and Ariadne's direction. Both beamed at him, and he rolled his eyes. He felt like such a child, but it was kind of fun in a way, too. He had his fun sneaking around with Ariadne earlier, and Eames didn't get a chance to relax much anymore. Seeing him grin the way he used to made Arthur's chest swell with joy.

Of course Christopher picked something violent and entirely inappropriate for his age group. It was too much to hope that he would have picked the G rated cartoon playing at the movie theater, even if he sometimes enjoyed watching that at the townhouse. "I can handle it if you can," he insisted. "You do dangerous things all the time."

"I've had training and I do what I can to make sure it's not _that_ dangerous," Arthur temporized. "You do realize what happens in the movies aren't real?"

"Well, yeah. But if they do good at it and come home..."

Arthur sighed. "Fine. But if you have nightmares, I'm allowed to say 'I told you so.'"

Christopher was inordinately pleased by that, and readily agreed. "See you later, Dad!" he shouted at Eames as he left the townhouse with Arthur, running ahead and already chattering excitedly about the action sequences he had seen in commercials.

Eames was gobsmacked by the title, and simply stood there as Ariadne shut the door. "Did he just say...?"

She shut his mouth gently and stood on tip toes to kiss his full lips. "Yeah. So how about you remember that moment the next time you feel like we all suck at being parents?"

He gave her a startled laugh, then pulled her into his arms. He kissed her long and slow, then drew her over to the couch. Taking his time with her, he simply kissed and caressed her, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. She stroked his skin and moved her hands inside his clothes, laughing when she tickled him or twisting away when he tickled her in turn. "Mmm," she murmured, mouthing the curve of his jaw when he stopped tickling her. "I missed this, just playing around with each other, you not being so tense."

"Me, too," he admitted. He ran his hands down her sides and then around to her rear, cupping her ass in his hands and pulling her down over him. He kissed her thoroughly, tongue sliding between her parted lips.

They simply kissed for a while longer, until Eames finally palmed a breast with a little more intent than before. "Let's go to the bedroom," he murmured against her mouth. She squeezed her hand around his cock slightly, nodding in agreement.

It wasn't far to the bedroom, where they stripped all their clothing then stumbled down onto the bed. Eames mouthed her sex, licking a stripe along her folds and clit as she gasped and pulled at his hair. He stroked her thighs before parting them gently and nodding at the bedside table. She twisted toward the drawer to grab a packet. Eames slid on the condom then nudged at her with the head of his cock. She reached down and guided him into her with a pleased sigh. He slid in and out of her slowly at first, teasingly running his fingers along the sides of her thighs. Ariadne tried to squeeze her inner muscles or grasp his hips, but he refused to be rushed. "Come on, come on," she panted, lifting her hips.

"Oh, no," he murmured with a smile. "I don't want this over before it's even begun, darling. I want you writhing and breathless before I come."

"I like the sound of that," she panted.

Eames moved slowly still, playing with her clit as he slid in and out of her with a careful and steady rhythm. Usually he thrust wild and hard into her, fucking her with reckless abandon. Tonight he wanted to show her how much he loved her, how much he needed her. It was more than just sex, rather like he was communicating through his touch and gestures. Ariadne made a soft whining noise as she writhed beneath him, hands clutching at his thighs as he moved. He liked the flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes kept falling closed even when she wanted to look at him. She was losing control, getting lost in the sensation. She was close, so close, but not quite there yet.

Finally starting to speed up, Eames watched as Ariadne jerked and gasped. He thumbed her clit hard, then felt her clench down around him. She let out a strangled wail as she came, clenching her hands hard around his thighs. As she loosened her grip, Eames thrust into her hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm. His hips jerked and his rhythm stuttered. Ariadne's nails gently abraded the skin on his thighs and ass, and Eames shuddered as he finally came. He rested his weight on his forearms and grinned tiredly at her. "That was nice."

Ariadne gave him a breathless laugh, then pulled him down for a kiss. "Only nice?" she asked, licking at his lips. "I'll have to do better than that."

"Don't think I'm up for it, love." Eames laughed at the face she made, then laughed harder when she wriggled out from under him and tried to grasp his softening cock and stroke him back to hardness. "I don't think it'll happen for a bit."

"Worth a try."

"You've made your point, Ariadne," he said, leaning over her and kissing her soundly. "You still want me, still love me. I get it. You've made it a thousand times over."

"Sometimes you're dense."

"Well, I'll allow that much."

"We'll all figure out the details as we go along, you know." She gave him a kiss. "I'm sure other parents have those 'Oh shit' moments, too. It'll all be okay."

"You seem so very certain."

"I'm thinking positive. Someone has to." Ariadne pulled him down for another kiss. "And when Arthur and I go to check out Gusarov, it's going to have to be you."

Eames blinked. "So it's going to be soon, then? Is this kind of like stocking up for when you leave?" he asked, gesturing toward their naked bodies.

"Sort of," Ariadne replied with a shrug. "But it's not just the trip. It's also that we haven't had this in a while since we've been so busy with Christopher. It's because there's so much worry that's there – and I'm not saying it shouldn't be, since there are really serious things we'll have to face at some point – and really, this takes your mind off it for a while. So it's all that rolled up in one awesome package." She gave him a grin and stroked his stubbled cheek. "We'll make it all work, Eames. I promise you. This is worth figuring out."

"Yeah," he agreed, tension he hadn't realized was there bleeding out of him. "It is."

She smiled fondly at him and leaned up to kiss his nose. "Well, I guess we'd better clean up and get dressed before our boys get back, huh? It might scar poor Christopher for life if he catches us naked in bed together. Or if he caught all three of us, maybe."

Eames couldn't help but agree. Christopher should retain some measure of innocence as long as he could. He already had too much taken from him.

***

Christopher accepted that Arthur and Ariadne had to leave on a business trip and didn't make such a fuss about it. He accompanied Eames to the airport where Arthur's private plane was waiting, and he was suitably dazzled by it. He was even impressed by the promise to make a family trip at some point. "Eden's close to having her baby, if she hasn't already," Arthur pointed out. "Why don't we visit them and see how they're doing?"

Christopher wasn't enthusiastic about the idea, but agreed. He and Eames kept to their routine while Arthur and Ariadne were away, and it seemed to go well. There weren’t any arguments or outbursts. Occasionally Christopher was sullen and tried to procrastinate doing the few chores that Eames pressed him to do, but even the family therapist pointed out that it was done in an age appropriate way. They seemed to have gotten used to each other, settling into a regular routine without even realizing it.

Arthur came back with a livid bruise on his arm and Ariadne had a bandage along her temple that was mostly hidden by her hair. They told Christopher that they had been mugged, but late at night had explained that Gusarov hadn't gone down easily. Once inside his head, they had found definitive proof that Gusarov had been involved in using some of the trafficked people in dream prostitution. Ariadne had been the one to make the call to eliminate him, even if it didn't quite fall under their Dream Killer purview. "He knew too much about us at that point anyway. It's a slippery slope, but I couldn't allow him to come back and harm us all."

Eames merely sighed. She had a point, even if he didn't like it. "It's difficult to make the world a better place," he temporized.

She took it as the conciliatory statement that it was. "Yeah. Arthur's been pushing for legislative changes, though. If there's honest discussion in at least one country, others can follow suit. It'll eventually be regulated better."

It was the same discussion, and it made Eames feel a bit better. Some things never really changed, after all.

***

Christopher initially balked at visiting Scotland, suddenly sure that the three of them were planning to leave him behind. Arthur merely rolled his eyes as Eames sputtered. "She's the closest thing you have to extended family," he told the boy in flat tones. His demeanor implied that he had expected better of Christopher, and the boy flushed slightly in response. "I'm arranging for a flat to stay in for the two weeks of our vacation there. She can always come visit us when the baby's bigger."

Eames watched Christopher blanch at mention of the baby. "You thought she was going to replace you, didn't you?" he asked softly.

It was his own jaw thrust on Christopher's face. "Well, that's just a stupid idea."

"For sure," Eames replied. "It damn near broke her heart to have to call me. I'm sure she was hoping you'd be a big brother to her sprog."

Christopher spared a glance toward the kitchen, where Ariadne was puttering around as she put together dessert. "Would she—?"

"I sincerely doubt that," Eames replied dryly. "We haven't talked about that, but none of us were terribly interested in squalling babies before."

Ariadne caught the last bit of that as she came back out with a tray laden with four bowls of ice cream and various toppings. "Babies? Are you going to give birth to it?" she asked sweetly.

Eames smirked at Christopher. "See?" he asked as Arthur snickered. "We got a good thing going as it is. No need to worry about it."

"So you don't ever want one?" Christopher pressed Ariadne.

She ruffled his hair playfully after depositing his bowl in front of him. "I am far too busy and not willing to upend everything like you'd have to do for a newborn. I like the routine we have right now, Christopher." She leaned over and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "You're my stepson, as far as I'm concerned, okay?"

"Step?"

"Well, I'm not going to pretend to replace your actual mother or anything," she blithely answered, passing out the other bowls then taking her own. "But I'm your mother figure. So, I'm your stepmother, you're my stepson. Even if there's no actual marriage to make it binding."

"Oh. That makes sense," he agreed, reaching for the chocolate syrup. "Hey! Don't hog all the cream," he whined at Arthur.

"There's more in the fridge," he replied with a smirk as he finished off the container.

"So do I have to be nice?" Christopher asked after a moment.

"To Eden? Yes," Eames told him firmly. "She took care of you for two years. Shelley trusted her to do that when she hid you away from the whole world. That makes her family in my book, and you have to be nice to family. Eden was good to you, Christopher. Maybe it was hard to see that at the time, but she was."

"She hated me."

"No, she couldn't handle you. There's a difference," Eames replied. He pointed at his son with his spoon. "You went out of your way to be an unholy terror and attacked her when you knew she would never raise a hand to you in return." Christopher's sullen silence all but confirmed that statement. "If she hated you, she would have turned you over to care homes or smacked you back. She would have shouted at you and called you names."

"She did shout," Christopher protested.

"Didn't you shout first?" he pointed out. Christopher remained silent. "Just be nice to her, Christopher. She did her best by you."

"It wasn't good enough. She's not my Mum."

"No, she's not," Eames replied gently. "And that's what makes it even more important that she tried. She didn't have to, Christopher. But she did, and that's only because she cared."

Christopher mulled that over as he finished his dessert. "All right," he said finally. "I'll try."

He was as good as his word. During the trip to Scotland, he was suitably impressed by the private plane and the amenities on board. He was dismissive of the rented flat because it was so small in comparison to the townhouse in Paris, but he was dutifully respectful of all the adults. It might have also had something to do with the fact that Eames promised to buy him his own lock picking set on their return to Paris.

Eden looked exhausted, and her son was a tiny bundle wrapped in blue. Christopher frowned at the sleeping baby in the crib. "It's not doing anything."

"He's barely a month old," she said quietly, hand on the crib rail. "He sleeps a lot."

She and Geordie hovered over the baby, whose nursery was set up in Christopher's old room. He took that in with a set jaw. "That's my drawing there," he told Eden almost belligerently.

"I know," she replied. "I remember the day you drew it, too. It was a good day, and we all had fun at the park. I wanted to remember that time."

Christopher was startled by that. "You do?"

"We had some good times, boyo," she told him, moving her hand from the crib rail to his arm in a gentle pat. "I want our new little one to be surrounded by some of those good times."

He looked down at the sleeping bundle. "He's so little." He looked up at Eden. "He can't do much, can he?"

"You were that little once. I remember when you came home from the hospital, squalling and angry at being so cold." Christopher blinked in surprise at her fond smile. "Prepared me for having this little one, it did."

Christopher looked down at the sleeping baby boy. "You said his name was Kenneth?"

"Yes, I did," Eden replied, turning her attention to the baby as well.

Reaching out somewhat hesitantly, Christopher placed his hand down over the sleeping baby. He wasn't aware of how everyone's gaze sharpened, in case he would strike the baby or harm him in some way. "Oi, Kenneth," Christopher said quietly. "You hurry up and grow. I got a lot of things I can teach you that your Mum doesn't know. Got it?"

Eden's eyes watered as she smiled at Christopher, and pulled him into a tight hug. "You do that, yeah? We'll visit back and forth lots. Geordie and I are out of the game for good now," she told Eames. "Got actual day jobs and all that rot. So we're planning to be about."

Eames found himself grinning at her. He had liked her when he met her years before, and it was good to have that support where Christopher was concerned. "Well, good. I'm out of the game, too. Just my two are in it still," he added, nodding in the direction behind him, where Arthur and Ariadne were talking in the sitting room with Geordie. "I think we're a good family, the four of us." He let his hand fall to Christopher's shoulder. "I think we're doing all right."

"Yeah," Christopher agreed with a nod. He leaned against the crib railing and smiled at the sleeping baby. "We'll teach him how to do it all up right."

With an endorsement like that, Eames felt content. There were undoubtedly going to be bumps along the way, but Ariadne was right. They would figure it out as they went along, and it would absolutely be worth it.

The End


End file.
